


Forever Changed

by loves_books



Series: Forever Changed [1]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being forced to make an impossible choice during a difficult mission, Hannibal struggles to deal with his feelings of guilt, while the lives of Face and the rest of their team are changed forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hannibal could hear them coming a mile off. Two men who could, at times, be among the most silent and deadly soldiers he’d ever worked with. At other times, they bickered just like three year olds fighting over a favourite toy, and this sounded like it was one of those times.

He smiled in spite of everything, recognising the familiar deep grumble of BA and the lighter, southern-accented tones of Murdock. Still too far away to make out any words, even for Hannibal’s sensitive hearing, but there was no denying they were most definitely back.

From across the tent there came a stifled laugh, and Hannibal looked up startled as his Lieutenant leaned back on his bunk and stretched. He’d forgotten, for a moment at least, that he wasn’t alone. Forgotten exactly who was here with him.

“They aren’t exactly quiet, huh, Colonel?” Lieutenant Read’s voice was soft and clear, his accent a strange mixture of the British of his childhood and the American of his teenage and adult life. Still, after more than two months together as a team, it wasn’t the voice Hannibal expected to hear.

“You should know by now, there’s nothing subtle about those two,” Hannibal replied with a smile, as the bickering grew closer and louder.

“The way they fight, I still don’t really get why they took leave together,” Read murmured as he dropped his head back to the reports he was thumbing through, and Hannibal frowned a little. Almost immediately, the younger man’s dark head snapped up, a look of horror on his face as he realised what he’d said. “Oh, god, I mean – Well, apart from the obvious. Sir, I didn’t – ”

“At ease before you strain something, kid.” It still felt wrong to be calling someone else by that nickname, Hannibal thought to himself, feeling that familiar pain in his chest at the memories. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”

The return of the other half of their team would mean a return to normal missions once more, something Hannibal could bury himself in and take his mind off everything. But first, it would mean some difficult conversations, and dredging up memories and feelings he’d worked hard to bury. Feelings of guilt and emptiness. Feelings of longing for the man he could never have, not now.

Read held his gaze across the tent for a moment, then mumbled, “Sorry, Colonel.”

Hannibal just shrugged, turning his attention to the entrance of the tent. Waiting.

Those bickering voices grew closer and closer, until he could hear the underlying friendship in his men’s voices, as well as deep exhaustion. They’d had a long trip, from the Army rehab centre in Texas to Benning in Georgia, then back to the FOB via Germany. But of course Murdock and BA still had the energy to argue and tease each other. 

With a sudden burst of motion, the tent flap was flung back and Murdock cartwheeled inside, crashing into the planning table and landing on the floor in a giggling heap. Instantly he bobbed back to his feet, wild hair sticking out in all directions, Hawaiian shirt so bright it threatened to burn Hannibal’s eyes after the dimness of the tent, and he somehow snapped to perfect attention.

“We’re baa-aack!” the pilot sing-songed, holding a salute for a long moment before breaking into a wide grin and bounding across the tent to jump headfirst onto Read’s bunk, sending the Lieutenant’s papers flying everywhere. “Didya miss us? Didya didya didya didaya – ?”

“Shut up for the thousandth time, you crazy idiot!” BA sounded absolutely furious, deep voice filling the tent as his muscled bulk suddenly filled the entrance. “Man, enough already! Thought you’d’ve worn yourself out by now.”

From many years long experience with these men, Hannibal could tell BA wasn’t truly mad at Murdock, though he was willing to bet they’d both had about enough of each other after ten days of leave without Hannibal there to play peacemaker. 

Standing, he accepted BA’s proffered handshake, turning it easily into a fist-bump as the corporal dropped two kitbags to the floor of the tent – of course Murdock would manage to convince his friend to carry his luggage too. “Good to see you both,” he announced, forcing a wide grin to his face. And it was good to see them, really it was, in spite of everything. “Good flight back?”

“Long flight back,” BA told him, rubbing both hands over his face as he dropped heavily into one of the canvas chairs, which gave an ominous creak under his weight. “’Specially with this fool sittin’ next to me.”

“Hate letting someone else fly the plane,” Murdock grumbled from the other side of the tent. To Hannibal’s amusement, his pilot had laid himself lengthways on his back across Read’s bed, head touching the floor on one side and lanky legs dangling off the other.

Their new lieutenant just looked bemused, hands held in the air almost as if someone was pointing a gun at him. Murdock might well have decided he liked the man but it was clear that Read still didn’t know what to make of Hannibal’s crazy team at times.

“Told you Murdock, you can’t fly every damn plane all the damn time. And you can’t ever fly any plane with me on board!” BA, again, protesting just as anticipated. Hannibal just shook his head with a soft laugh; one day they’d get this man over his fear of flying.

“Oh, Bosco, you wound me!” Still with his head hanging upside down, Murdock clutched a hand dramatically to his chest as if he’d been shot. “Anyone’d think you don’t like my flying!”

Before BA could make another retort, Hannibal figured he should step in and be the mature one, though the familiar banter was soothing. He really had missed them both, though he missed the third voice that should be bantering with them even more. “Enough, boys,” he started, putting just enough steel into his voice to settle them all instantly. “You had a good break, I take it? Your Mother doing okay, big guy?”

BA frowned, leaning forwards in his chair and resting meaty forearms on even meatier thighs. “She’s doin’ okay, thanks, man; sends her love as always.” His words were slow, his expression thoughtful, and Hannibal struggled to hold his friend’s gaze. It wasn’t the first question he should have asked, and they all knew it. “She’s stayin’ down in Texas for another week or two, to keep him company a bit longer.”

“Good,” Hannibal heard himself say, and he swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. He needed to ask, needed to know, but at the same time he was terrified of hearing the truth.

“He’s doing so much better.” Murdock’s voice, unexpectedly, and Hannibal looked over to see the younger man sitting up now, cross-legged on Read’s bunk while the Lieutenant just looked uncomfortable. “The surgeons said he’s healing up real well, and the infection’s nearly all gone now.”

“They even had him up on crutches, Boss, just for a few minutes.” BA still looked confused, though his words were calm and measured, dark eyes staring. Hannibal couldn’t look at him, guilt rising up in his throat and threatening to choke him. “He was so pleased about that. Real landmark moment. Mama took some pictures.”

“That’s… good.” His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. It wasn’t good, not at all, though he knew it was a big step forwards, figuratively speaking. Being able to balance on a pair of crutches wasn’t something that any one of them should be celebrating, not normally.

“The docs reckon another couple of months just healing before they can talk ‘bout fitting him for a prosthetic.” Murdock again, voice stronger and more insistent, cutting though Hannibal’s guilt. “And he asked after you, Boss. Asked how everything was going. How you were… how you were coping, with it all.”

Hannibal had to swallow hard again before he could speak. “You gave him my letter?” he managed to choke out. “Told him why I couldn’t be there? Sent my apologies?”

“’Course we did. Said he understood.” But BA was shaking his head even as he spoke. He knew, just as Murdock did, just as Read also did, that Hannibal could have made the time to visit if he’d pushed for it. 

The meetings that had kept the colonel in Iraq could have been postponed, but they’d been a convenient excuse. Hannibal didn’t see any way he could ever visit, not after what he’d done. Couldn’t see any way he would ever be welcomed or wanted. He hadn’t even been able to summon the strength to call, not wanting to stress the kid over the phone, though he’d spoken to his doctors once or twice back after he’d first been medevac’ed back to the States.

“Hannibal?” Murdock hadn’t sounded so serious in a very long time. Never a good sign, that. “Hannibal, you know Face doesn’t blame you, right? Not for any of it. Not even for a second.”

For a moment there was complete silence, even the sounds of camp life from outside the tent seeming to pause. Hannibal felt almost physically sick, suddenly overwhelmed with memories of smoke and flames, fallen beams and molten metal, and screams. The screams, over and above all things.

Screams that still haunted his nightmares after all these months. The worst sounds Hannibal had ever heard, in a long career of nightmare-inducing missions. Face’s screams of agony.

Shaking his head hard, Hannibal took two long strides across the tent, lifting the flap and dragging in a few deep lungfuls of the baking hot desert air, letting the blinding sun wash away the visions of hell that haunted him. A passing jeep honked its horn loudly, a group of soldiers nearby laughed long and hard, and a chopper passed noisily overhead, all helping to drown out the memory of those screams.

But even subdued and buried, the nightmare still stayed with him, hovering in the background, and Hannibal knew deep down it always would. If only it was just a nightmare – it had happened, and Face was having to live with the consequences.

“He should blame me,” Hannibal told his team over his shoulder, raising a hand quickly to cut off the inevitable protests. “It was my fault.”

Letting the tent flap drop behind him, he stalked off into the depths of the base, trying to lose himself in the maze of tents. Hoping he could leave the guilt behind him if only he moved fast enough.


	2. Chapter 2

“Face, no!” Hannibal bolted upright in his bunk, gasping for air, heart hammering hard and fast in his chest. Just a dream, he told himself over and over again, as the familiar darkness of his team’s tent started to register in his shaken mind. The too-short bunk beneath him, the quiet sounds of camp life outside, his men breathing around him. “Oh god,” he whispered, rubbing both hands over his face harshly and shoving them back into his hair. “Oh, kid…”

“Bossman?” A sleepy voice from the other side of the tent. “Y’okay?”

It took him a long second to find his voice. “Fine, Murdock,” he managed eventually, lying back down slowly and trying to unwrap the thin blanket from where it had tangled around his legs. “Go back to sleep.”

“Marshmallows,” came the disjointed response, followed almost immediately by a soft snore, and Hannibal found a tiny smile hovering on his lips in spite of the looming shadow of his nightmare. The blood, and the screaming… And Face, always his poor Face, in the heart of everything.

“My fault,” he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut against the darkness and trying to slow his racing heart.

During the day, he could keep himself busy and keep his mind occupied. He could find ways not to think about that terrible day and the decisions he’d made. There were missions and plans, training and team building exercises. But at night, alone in his bunk…

If he’d only waited, just a little longer, everything would be different. Face would be here, with them, where he belonged, rather than lying in a rehab centre far away from them all. He would be here at Hannibal’s side, where he should be. Where Hannibal needed him to be.

With a huff of frustration, Hannibal rolled carefully onto his side, pounding his pillow in a pointless attempt to make it more comfortable. From behind him there came a snort and a creak as someone else shifted – BA, most likely – then quiet once more.

It didn’t matter what Hannibal needed. He had no right to ask anything of Face now, no right to ask how he was doing, how on earth he was coping with his terrible new reality. Face would be blaming him, and rightly so – Hannibal had no right to ask forgiveness. He’d certainly never forgive himself.

The official inquiry, such as it had been, had cleared Hannibal of any blame, much to his disbelief. There had even been talk of a medal, for saving Face’s life – the very idea had been so completely ridiculous that Hannibal had actually walked out, refusing to take part any further.

Face would get a medal, and a commendation, to go along with his medical discharge. Already he was officially out of the Rangers, only waiting on final decisions from the medical staff to see if a desk job could be found for him or if his Army career was truly over.

Hannibal shook his head at that thought, then pushed his face into the pillow hard. Of course Face’s career was over – Hannibal had ended it for him when he chose to act rather than waiting. When he’d had the audacity to think he knew best. As if Face could ever be satisfied with a desk job.

He knew the rest of his team didn’t understand. They hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen everything. Murdock and BA had been there in the immediate aftermath, of course, when Face was screaming and bleeding, when the damage had already been done. Read had been there soon after, part of the rescue attempt with his then-team.

They hadn’t seen what Hannibal had to do. No, that wasn’t right – what Hannibal had thought he had to do. What he shouldn’t have done. He should have waited, just a little longer. Things could have been so different. His fault.

He knew Murdock and BA didn’t understand. They’d both told him over and over again that he’d saved Face’s life, that he was a hero. They were devastated, of course, about what had happened. It had torn their team apart and Face’s life would never be the same again, but both of them had tried hard to focus on the positives. That Face was alive at all.

They didn’t understand. They’d proved it again that afternoon, when Hannibal had eventually returned to the tent and overheard them talking about it all, for what seemed the thousandth time. As if there could be anything to gain by talking about it. As if it would change anything.

“It’s not his fault.” Murdock’s voice had drifted through the tent clearly, a note of distress there that Hannibal hated to hear. “He’s gotta stop blaming himself and find some way to move on.”

“Perhaps he should talk to Lieutenant Peck?” Read had suggested, and BA’s snort of laughter had made Hannibal wince. 

“That’s what we been sayin’ since it happened. Face was flown out of here so damn fast, and he was still out cold the whole time, so the Boss didn’t even get the chance to see him.” That was true – Hannibal’s last glimpse of Face all those months ago had been as his pale and terribly still lieutenant was swallowed up by the waiting medics on their return to base. So pale, so lifeless, blood-soaked and damaged beyond repair. Hannibal’s fault, entirely.

“Time was when Hannibal would’ve moved heaven and earth to get to Face’s bedside.” Murdock had sounded sad, then, and confused. “Or at least he would’ve been on the phone to him a dozen times a day, if we really couldn’t get to him.”

“He thinks Face blames him, and none of us are gonna convince him otherwise. But we can’t drag Hannibal to Texas, just like there ain’t no way to get Face here.” Always the voice of reason, BA, even if Hannibal knew he was wrong this time. “Colonel needs to talk to someone, if he won’t talk to us.”

“A counsellor, you mean?” Read had sounded thoughtful, still a little detached. He hadn’t been there for it all, of course, only joining the team properly a few weeks after the dust had started to settle. “Might not be a bad idea.”

“It’s a stupid idea.” Murdock’s angry interjection had made Hannibal take half a step back from the tent flap where he had been hovering. “Therapy ain’t what he needs. Talkin’ to some idiot with a degree and a leather sofa who ain’t been out there, who ain’t got no idea what it’s like – that ain’t what he needs. He needs to talk to Face, just like Face needs him to be there by his side, helping him adjust.”

“Easy, man.” Hannibal could picture BA patting Murdock on the arm, settling him down as only he could manage to do “Easy, there. Breathe.”

“Sorry, Murdock. I didn’t mean to imply anything. You know them both better than me.” There had been a pause after Read’s apology, and Hannibal had just braced himself to enter the tent when their new lieutenant spoke up again. “As much as I agree that he needs to find some way to forgive himself, can we agree that it really isn’t affecting him on the job?”

Hannibal had frowned hard, holding his breath until he finally heard two reluctant voices say ‘no’. He’d worked hard to make sure none of this affected his work, to make sure he didn’t start second-guessing himself, and in fact the four missions they’d been on since Read had joined them had been resounding success stories.

Read was good, a near-perfect fit for their damaged team. Not perfect, of course – nothing and no one short of Face reappearing, whole and uninjured, could ever make them perfect again. But the man was good, and so far, it worked well enough.

Previous experience on several Alpha teams, a solid reputation for thinking outside the box, sniper qualifications – Lieutenant Tom Read’s name had come up time and time again when Hannibal had started asking around about a new XO. Not a replacement for Face, no, just a new team-member. No one could ever replace Face, not in the team and not in Hannibal’s heart. 

Lying back on his bunk now, Hannibal sighed again, rolling onto his back and staring through the inky darkness towards the roof of the tent. Read certainly wasn’t up to Face’s standards – he was learning the ropes slowly, learning how to get along with BA and Murdock, learning how to see his way through Hannibal’s plans. Learning how to anticipate what the team needed. Learning how to read Hannibal.

Face had never needed to learn any of that. It had all come so naturally to him, everything snapping into place as if it was always meant to be. Face had known instinctively what Hannibal needed and what he meant, from the very first moment they met all those long years ago. Had understood his crazy ideas, challenged him every step of the way. Made everything easier, simpler, just by being there. Made everything better. And it hadn’t hurt that he was handsome, charming, brilliant, funny. Shy, beneath that overconfident mask he wore. Hannibal had always hoped that, maybe, one day in the future – 

Stupid, to even think of that now. Selfish, more than anything, when Face was the one who needed all their attention and all their focus, to heal as much as he could and try to move on. Face, who didn’t need Hannibal to be involved, an horrific reminder of what had happened that day. A visible reminder of exactly what Hannibal had done to Face, though of course the physical damage was all the visual reminder any of them needed.

No, it was better this way, Hannibal knew. He’d make every effort to make sure BA and Murdock could visit their friend as often as their jobs allowed, and he’d keep his ear to the ground to see if there was anything he could do for Face behind the scenes, anything he might need, though he had no real worries on that front. The Army would take care of their wounded soldier, and Hannibal was confident Face was strong enough to find some way to move on with his life, somehow, especially without Hannibal there to make things more difficult. 

Not that things could be much more difficult for him. 

Suddenly, lying there in the dark, Hannibal felt tears spring to his eyes. It really was all so unfair. But who had ever said life was fair? Doing the jobs they did, out on the frontline as they were, they all knew the risks they took on a daily basis. Perhaps they had been lucky, Hannibal and Face and BA and Murdock, being together as long as they had been without ever losing someone, to injury or PTSD or death. Perhaps this had been a long time coming, and Face had been the one to pay the inevitable price for their long string of successes.

No. Gritting his teeth, blinking furiously to disperse those threatening tears, Hannibal tried to shake it off. No, it hadn’t been inevitable. It had been Hannibal’s doing, Hannibal’s fault. And all he could do now was try to move past it. He’d made one terrible mistake, something he should never have done, and something he would certainly never do again. He owed it to Face to carry on and be the best he could possibly be, as clichéd as that might sound. No way to repay the full debt he owed his former Lieutenant, but that would be something at least – to learn from his disastrous mistake and get better.

But Murdock’s final words from that afternoon were haunting him still, just as Face’s screams of pain were right there in the darkness, echoing in Hannibal’s ears no matter how much he tried to block them out. 

“It isn’t affecting him ‘cause he isn’t letting it. He isn’t dealing with it.” BA had grumbled his agreement, Read starting to reply too, but their pilot had pushed on, his words so quiet that Hannibal had had to strain to hear. “But there’s only so much he can do. It’ll all get too much at some point, and I only hope we can pick up the pieces when it does. And that he doesn’t take us down with him.”

Hannibal was determined he wouldn’t let that happen. But the moment sleep tugged him back under, that dream and those memories were right there waiting for him. And it all played over and over again…


	3. Chapter 3

For once, it hadn’t been one of those missions when everything seemed to be going perfectly before suddenly falling apart spectacularly just as it neared completion.

Hannibal knew it was a standing joke, particularly amongst his team. Spotting that moment when everything just went completely to hell. When Plan B became Plan C or even Plan D. When the plans went out the window entirely and they had no choice but to just improvise and fly by the seat of their pants.

Some of his favourite missions of all time had been those kind of missions. The jobs when you got home and wondered just how the hell you were still in one piece. When you were riding high on adrenaline and the job was a success, in spite of everything the bad guys had thrown at you.

But it hadn’t been one of those missions. It had been the very worst kind of job-gone-wrong, when everything quietly fell apart from the moment they first set foot outside the FOB.

They’d laughed about it at the time. Laughed through gritted teeth while doing what they did best – dealing with every new disaster as it appeared, and making it look easy. They could still get the job done, the four of them. This was what they did best.

Looking back after everything had ended so terribly, Hannibal would wonder if he should have just called an ‘abort’ straight away. It wouldn’t have been the first time; situations changed, targets moved, and there was no pride at stake. They were crazy, not suicidal.

But the idea hadn’t even come up, and they had coped, adjusted, even as things grew steadily worse. They could still get the job done, in spite of unbelievably poor intelligence and a disastrous turn in the weather.

The small group of insurgents they’d been told to expect were actually more of a small army. Supposedly armed with only handguns, instead they had more weapons between them than some entire regiments Hannibal had served with, everything from machine guns and Gatling guns via rocket launchers and what looked like a missile of some kind, strapped to the side of the helicopter they absolutely were not supposed to have.

The helicopter was the least of the team’s problems, in the end, as well as the worst. The sudden storm that blew out of nowhere had meant everyone was on the ground rather than in the air, but the team’s jeep had taken a stray bullet to the engine and blown up quite spectacularly. In the ensuing chaos they’d had to split up, Hannibal and Face taking off through the dense forest towards the warehouses they’d been aiming for, while Murdock and BA doubled back to provide a diversion of some kind.

So far, so chaotic, but nothing they couldn’t handle. The idea of aborting the mission was never discussed, not after they’d already done so much and gone so far. Hannibal and his boys could make a success out of that string of failures yet.

They had found the warehouses, even as the storm worsened above them. Thunder, lightning, gale force winds, hailstones the size of golf balls – Hannibal had known he and Face had dealt with worse. Success was right there for the taking, calling to him.

Given how badly things had been going, success seemed simple, in the end. Two guards asleep on the job, lulled into a false sense of security by the appalling storm. The safe hidden in the most obvious place possible, prompting Face to laugh softly as he made short work of cracking it open.

Documents retrieved in record time, they had moved on to part two. Planting enough C4 to take out the warehouse and its highly illegal contents. Large quantities of just about every drug imaginable, plus a smattering of counterfeit designer goods. 

Then, perhaps predictably with hindsight, things had started to go wrong again, very quickly. More security guards appearing out of nowhere, complete with snarling dogs. Rattle of gunfire outside to go along with the constant rattle of hail on the metal roof. And, even more ominously, the unmistakable sound of a helicopter, blades barely audible above the thunder. Blades which sounded like they were struggling, stuttering, failing in the high winds.

No time to do more than take a few steps at a flat-out run, Hannibal’s hand wrapped into Face’s jacket, keeping the younger man close by his side. Not that it did any good, in the end.

Later, Murdock would describe in a broken voice how the chopper dropped straight out of the sky like a stone, plummeting through the roof of the warehouse, already just a ball of fire. He had called in the emergency rescue at that point, knowing Hannibal and Face were inside, even as he and BA were racing as fast as they could towards the burning building. Whoever the pilot had been, he should never have even tried to take the helicopter up, not in such strong winds – a sign of just how stupid that small army were.

At the time, all Hannibal had known was sudden fire and smoke. Complete darkness, where there had been bright spotlights all around. The smell of burning, the sickening scent of petrol fumes mixing with the chemical tang of drugs ablaze. And the unmistakable, terrifying scent of blood.

Hannibal had been fine, somehow avoiding any serious injury. Not perfectly fine, of course, but nothing he couldn’t live with. Burns, bruises, cuts, a splitting headache – adrenaline cut through most of it, pushing him back to his feet, coughing in the smoke, eyes tearing up automatically, calling for Face.

Not even adrenaline could cut through the icy cold fist that had squeezed his heart when Face didn’t reply.

It was far from silent, though, as the sound of shifting beams and collapsing walls echoed through the structure around them. Flames grew closer, brighter, illuminating the unstable wreckage Hannibal stood on, searching desperately for his lieutenant.

And suddenly, he had been there. Still conscious, somehow, eyes wide and shocky, face almost completely white in the light from the dancing flames. Chest visibly heaving as he struggled for breath, lips clamped tightly together and handsome features scrunched up in obvious agony.

Hannibal had scrambled over the wreckage to Face’s side, giving his boy’s hand a quick squeeze even as his eyes took in the damage. Even that brief glimpse had told him it was bad.

Face lay on his back, the lower half of his long body pinned cruelly. Twisted metal, no way to tell exactly what it had been, obviously heavy and crushing him to the ground. Hannibal had tried to slip a hand beneath, tried to feel if it was just resting on Face’s limbs or worse – impossible to tell, but his hand had come away wet with blood.

A low groan, Face biting his lip hard by then in an effort to keep quiet, and Hannibal had been so ridiculously proud of the kid in that moment. There were hostiles in the building with them, after all, and dogs. They couldn’t afford to be caught. They had to get free, somehow, and get out.

The heat from the flames had been almost unbearable by then, the smoke so thick Hannibal was coughing constantly, unable to catch his breath. An explosion, sudden and unexpected, reminded him of the C4 they had planted, and he had frozen in place by Face’s side.

In a split second, a dozen different scenarios had run through his mind. Murdock and BA were nearby, they would be coming. They would have radioed for help, and there would be rescue teams on the way. They should wait for rescue; he shouldn’t try to move Face, not while there was still time. But, more likely perhaps, the whole warehouse could come down on top of them both, either because of the fire or their own C4. Rescue might not come in time.

In the end, Hannibal was a man of action, and he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of doing nothing. Of waiting, watching, relying on others, not when there was something he could do. 

No time to think, and too breathless by then to offer Face more than an apologetic glance, Hannibal had leapt into action. Running on nothing but instinct, he threw every ounce of strength he had into lifting that twisted metal from his boy’s legs.

No time to think, he had heaved and strained, ignoring the choked cries of pain slipping from Face’s lips. Another explosion had given him the final burst of strength he needed, and the metal slipped free at last, clattering heavily to the floor. And Face screamed for the first time.

So much blood, visible even in the light from the flames which had started to lick their way up the walls. And yet more metal, a beam perhaps, heavy over Face’s left leg and pinning him from mid-thigh. So much blood Hannibal had barely been able to get a grip on the object, could only lift it an inch or two before it slipped from his fingers. Face had screamed again when the metal slammed back down onto his battered limb.

He didn’t stop screaming, eyes screwed tightly shut in sheer agony, hands clutching weakly at Hannibal’s back. Trying to get him to stop, but Hannibal had known he had to keep going. Had to get Face out, somehow.

Burning his own hands on the heated metal around them both, Hannibal had searched through the wrecked warehouse until he found something he could use as a lever. Ignoring the blisters he could feel rising on his palms, he had rammed it into place and started to lift.

It was harder than anything Hannibal had ever had to do, and he had realised with a sickening lurch that the edge of the metal had actually embedded itself deep into Face’s leg, though he couldn’t see just how deep. That the blood was flowing faster still, now the metal was coming free, slowly but surely.

Face had still been screaming and pushing at him, weaker by then, but Hannibal had kept working. Had to keep working, couldn’t stop once he’d started. He had managed somehow to prop the beam up, giving him time and space to tie his belt tight around Face’s upper thigh, and the blood flow mercifully eased. But there had been another explosion, the whole ceiling dropping a few feet down above their heads, and they were nearly out of time. 

“Sorry, kid,” Hannibal had managed to choke out between hacking coughs, manoeuvring as fast as he could until he was able to jam his hands beneath Face’s armpits, and braced to pull his man free. “I’m so sorry.”

Another scream had been the only reply, and the screaming became nearly constant as Hannibal dragged Face out from beneath the beam, tried not to think about the damage he was causing, quickly shifting his boy over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. 

As he had staggered through the burning building, all sense of direction lost as the flames and fallen beams blocked every turn, a detached part of Hannibal’s mind had been thankful the dogs hadn’t found them. Trapped, perhaps, or dead – they weren’t there, at least, which was one small blessing in a day of disasters.

Face’s cries had grown weaker, his body heavy as Hannibal kept trying to find a way out, kept trying to ignore his boy’s blood soaking steadily into his vest. More explosions, more smoke, more flames, and time had lost all meaning until suddenly they were out.

Coughing hard, Hannibal had been helpless to resist as Murdock and BA lifted Face away from him, guiding him away from the burning warehouse. He had wanted to help, but all he could do was cough as horror at his own actions started to sink in.

Ignoring the explosions from behind him, ignoring the sound of the roof of the warehouse collapsing entirely, heedless of the thunder crashing above them and the fact that the hail had turned to icy rain, he had watched in helpless horror as his two teammates laid their lieutenant down on the muddy ground with infinite care. 

Face had screamed weakly one last time as Murdock tightened the makeshift tourniquet with visibly shaking hands. BA had bundled his own jacket beneath his friend’s head, tears somehow obvious on his soot-streaked face despite the rain.

Coughing, fighting the urge to vomit, all Hannibal was able to do was watch when the injured man finally lost consciousness. Bracing himself, he had managed to drag his eyes away from the young man’s pale face, forcing himself to look at what he’d done.

Forced himself to look first at Face’s right leg, pants shredded and soaked with blood, cuts and burns visible through the tears. Forced himself to look at the pulpy mess of Face’s left thigh, blackened with burns. Forced himself to look lower, to the empty space where Face’s left knee and lower leg should have been. Where there was nothing but blood soaking into the ground.

Dear god, what had he done?


	4. Chapter 4

Funny how completely your life could change in just a few short minutes. Face had always known something like this could happen, but he had known it with the sort of distant detachment all soldiers tried to maintain. They understood and accepted the risks that went along with the jobs they chose to do, but they couldn’t dwell on them. They would never dare to do anything if they went out on each and every mission thinking they would come back injured or dead.

Or missing a leg. It still blew Face’s mind that he only had one leg now. One leg and a stump, a misshapen limb that ended abruptly a few inches above where his knee should have been.

Still healing, of course, even after three months. The wound had become badly infected, leading to a nasty case of septicaemia, and he’d needed several surgeries to try to salvage what was left of his thigh. The surgeons had done an amazing job in the end; still swollen and painful, but it was healing at last, and Face was finally starting to feel human again now the last of his fever had faded away.

He’d not really been well enough to do much more than lie in his bed until just a few short weeks ago. The gruelling physical therapy had started with a vengeance at that point, though the counselling had already started the very moment he’d landed back in the States, in the hospital he’d spent a fortnight at before being transferred out here to the Army rehab centre.

For the first time in his life, Face was actually grateful for the psychiatrists. This wasn’t something he could ignore, locking it away in a dark corner of his mind and pretending it had never happened. He’d lost a leg, and he needed help. He was man enough to admit that.

It would take a lot longer to mentally adjust completely, but Face felt confident he was already well on his way. Several different psychiatrists had tried to tell him it was entirely okay to be angry, depressed, furious with the world. That it was natural to feel a deep sense of loss, and to grieve not only for the leg he’d lost but also for the life and career that had gone along with it.

He didn’t feel that, though. All he felt was incredible gratitude for being alive – the loss of a leg seemed a small price to pay for being there at all.

Sitting up in his bed at the rehab centre, Face glanced down at his lap, shaking his head again in amazement. So obvious, the change, with the blanket drawn up to his waist. His right leg clearly outlined – he wiggled his toes a little beneath the covers, just because he could – and then the complete absence of a matching limb. His heavily bandaged stump rested on a soft pillow, creating a strange silhouette. 

Amazing, that he’d survived at all. Face remembered nearly every moment of that disastrous mission, and he knew he should’ve died. Knew it with a gut-wrenching certainty. He should be dead, but he wasn’t. And it was all because of one incredible man.

The mission really had been screwed from the very start, but his team had succeeded in hitting all their objectives, just as they always did. Face had revelled in the rush he always got when the four of them worked together so seamlessly, and he’d loved watching Hannibal at his absolute finest, leading the way and improvising so brilliantly while things fell apart around them.

At the time, he’d never known what hit the warehouse they were in. Hadn’t really cared, too busy trying to deal with the firey new situation he and Hannibal had suddenly found themselves in. He’d since been told it had been a burning helicopter plunging through the roof, and that had actually been something of a relief – he’d worried for a long time, as the infection burned through his battered body, that it might have been his fault, thinking perhaps he’d set the fuses too short on the C4 they’d planted around the building.

At the time, it had simply been the worst pain he’d ever known in his entire life – sheer, utter agony of the highest level, and he’d known immediately just how screwed he was from the first moment the dust settled enough to let him look down at his legs. But he hadn’t been able to see his legs, of course, trapped and pinned immobile beneath twisted metal, sending waves of agony shooting through his entire body, agony beyond anything he’d ever suffered.

He hadn’t been able to move, had barely been able to breath. Certainly couldn’t have called for Hannibal, though he could hear his colonel coughing and calling for him.

Absolute, utter, mind-melting agony. The worst of it had been in his left leg, a combination of burning and stabbing pains, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Couldn’t scream, he’d known that much instinctively, though he’d wanted to. If he was going to die there, he’d been determined to give Hannibal the best possible chance of getting out in one piece. Screaming would draw attention to them, so he couldn’t. But he’d wanted to, so very badly.

But Hannibal hadn’t left him. He had wanted to shout, to push the older man away – Hannibal should have gone while he still could, should’ve gotten the documents out of the fire and away to safety – but instead Face had only been able to watch helplessly as explosions echoed through the shattered warehouse, and Hannibal had just gone straight to work trying to move the metal from his body.

Thinking back on it all now, safe and warm and comfortably doped up on a cocktail of mild painkillers – not morphine anymore, sadly, after they’d weaned him off it painfully a few weeks earlier – the agony Face had felt back then as the heavy metal was dragged over his torn flesh and lifted from his battered body all seemed like a nasty memory. One he wished he could forget.

His memories of what had happened next were hazy in some aspects yet extraordinarily vivid in others. He knew he’d started screaming, despite his best intentions, and he knew the fire had been getting closer all the time. Knew there had been more explosions.

And he knew Hannibal hadn’t given up, had somehow managed to get him free, carrying him over his shoulder from the warehouse as it collapsed slowly around them. What Face wasn’t sure about was exactly how his colonel had managed to move the last of the wreckage from his legs – from his remaining leg, at least, though of course he hadn’t known that at the time. Not for sure at least.

The doctors were reasonably certain that his left leg had been more or less severed as soon as the beam fell on him, bones crushed beyond repair, skin ripped apart like paper, and muscles cleanly sliced through. If he’d stayed in the building, if Hannibal had left him like he should have done, then Face would have bled out within minutes. If the building hadn’t collapsed on top of him first.

Hannibal had saved Face’s life, risking his own into the bargain and risking the entire mission, by staying in the burning warehouse for as long as he had done. And Face’s last memory of that afternoon, lying outside on the muddy ground, unable to stop his cries of pain as Murdock and BA hovered over him and the warehouse collapsed entirely in an explosion of fire and debris – his last memory of it all was of Hannibal.

Of the look of shock and horror on the older man’s face, so obvious even through the thick soot coating his skin and the heavy rain falling around them all.

He had longed for his colonel to touch him again, to be there for him and to reassure him. But that reassurance had never come, at least not while he’d still been conscious. There had been no real contact since, either – he hadn’t seen Hannibal nor even spoken to him since that moment.

One short letter, though, which Face was keeping safely in the back of the book he had on his bedside table. One letter, delivered by his two best friends, saying how sorry the colonel was about everything that had happened. Telling him to stay strong and do what the doctors told him. Apologising for not being there, by Face’s bedside. Saying he would visit as soon as he was back in the States, as soon as duty allowed him the time. Apologising again, for everything.

Face told himself he understood, of course, or was at least trying hard to understand. There must be many reasons why Hannibal hadn’t been able to visit, not least of which being the speed Face had been flown back to the States. Hannibal had a job he couldn’t easily leave, commitments which had to take priority over visiting an injured man, and Face had spent too many years in the Rangers to have any doubts that the colonel was busy, especially since he’d have to train up a replacement XO as soon as possible. 

The lack of even a brief phone call was harder to justify, but Face told himself it made sense. Difficult at the best of times to get a clean line back to the States from the middle of nowhere, and obviously priority had to be given to emergencies or to family contact. Face knew he was no longer considered an emergency, nor was he family to Hannibal. Not officially, at least. The colonel would call when he could, surely. 

It hurt, though, not having Hannibal by his side, not even hearing his voice. For so many years they’d barely been apart for more than a few days, when one or the other of them was out on a solo mission or working with another team. For so many years Hannibal had been his anchor, the best thing about life in the Rangers, and to lose both at once was heart-breaking.

That was the part that hurt the most, of course, more than the physical pain. That he was out of the Rangers. The only career he’d ever wanted, the one thing he’d worked harder for than anything else in his life. Gone, forever. Face had never even thought seriously about what he would do in the future, once he eventually left the service. In all honesty, he’d never thought he would leave voluntarily, a dark part of him expecting to give his life for his country while another part dreamed of retiring one day in the far distant future. Of perhaps finding Hannibal waiting for him, and the pair of them setting up home together – 

Dangerous to even dream that, he knew, and even more stupid and pointless now. Face knew his colonel cared for him, but it was obvious to him now that it really had been just the care of a mentor and friend, rather than as the ‘something-else’ he’d always hoped for. Most likely, he wouldn’t see Hannibal again for a long time, if ever, and he had to find a way to deal with that. Somehow. 

It had been so good to see BA and Murdock, though, and Face was thrilled to think they had come such a long way just to visit him. It had been a relief to know they were still friends, brothers; up until the very moment the two men had walked through the door of his room, he’d been scared they might not want to see him. Not want to see the wreckage of his body – no way for him to hide the loss of his leg, and no way he’d want to. This was his new life, and he was determined to face it head on. No hiding away.

A relief, though, to know he wouldn’t be facing it completely alone, even if his two brothers couldn’t be there every moment of the day. 

He was a survivor, first and foremost – Hannibal had always said that about him, and Face believed it with all his heart. Perhaps the psychiatrists were right and PTSD was lurking around the corner, but he chose to believe that he could deal with it if and when it did hit him. He was alive when he should be dead, and whatever came next for him was a gift, pure and simple, all thanks to his former colonel. 

Perhaps he would stay in the Army, and perhaps not. There was no pressure yet to make a decision, and Face knew he had options, and time to think through them. A desk job, perhaps, or a position advising and training new recruits, somewhere he could pass on the lessons he’d learned during a six year career in the Rangers, five of those spent with the living legend that was Colonel John ‘Hannibal’ Smith. 

Or perhaps he’d start a fresh life, though he had no real ideas what that new life might include. One step at a time, Face thought, smiling at his unintentional pun. Firstly he had to throw himself into getting his strength back, working on his physiotherapy exercises, getting used to the crutches – it took a ridiculous amount of effort to even balance on his one remaining leg now, his whole body knocked off balance without the weight of his left leg. 

Then he’d have to get used to a prosthetic leg, and he knew that wouldn’t be easy, though in a strange way he was intrigued by the possibilities. Medical science could work wonders these days, and the Army were at the very forefront of advancements in the area. A new bionic leg might be an interesting experience, a challenge he could really sink his teeth into.

He knew it might just be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do in his entire life, but he would get there. It might take time, but he’d get there, and he wasn’t alone. He had BA and Murdock on his side, and BA’s mother had also flown down to visit him a few times, reassuring Face that he was still part of their family, which meant more than he could ever say.

Having Hannibal still on his side would have made it all just a little easier still, but Face could wait and hope things might change, someday.

A painful cramp in his calf suddenly hit, reminding him just how difficult it really would be. Because the cramp wasn’t in the leg that was still attached, the leg now scarred from burns and weakened from months of bed rest. No, the cramp was in his left leg, the leg that wasn’t there anymore.

Gritting his teeth against the phantom pain, Face closed his eyes and tried desperately to do as he’d been shown. Eventually he’d be taught to massage his stump in the hope of relieving the pain, but it was still too sore and tender for that to be effective yet. Instead, he tried to relax, tried to imagine flexing out the cramp. Mentally stretched out his calf, imagined pointing his toes to the ceiling, tried to will the pain away. Flexed his right leg, in an attempt to trick his brain. 

Tried to think about something else, anything else. Of course, the first thing that came to mind was an image of Hannibal in his BDUs. Tall and handsome, silver hair shining in the bright desert sunshine. Blue-grey eyes smiling at Face, cigar clenched tight between his teeth. So handsome. The very image of strength and determination. 

It worked for a moment, the pain easing a fraction before returning with a vengeance, twice as bad as before, and he gasped in spite of himself. Hannibal wasn’t there, might never be there for him again, and as much as that hurt, Face had to help himself. And right now, the only way to do that was ask for help.

The work of a moment to hit the ‘call’ button, and he knew there would be a nurse by his side in a few seconds. He’d take any help the Army offered him, and he’d get his life back, even if that was a different life than he could ever have imagined, a life without Hannibal by his side. He wouldn’t let this beat him. Hannibal had given him a second chance at life, and Face owed it to his colonel to grab that chance with both hands. 

When Hannibal did find the time to visit him, when the colonel’s duties eased enough to allow him a phone call at long last, Face was determined to be able to tell the older man just how well he was coping. To thank him with all his heart for saving his life. It was a debt Face knew he could never repay, but he’d always be grateful. 

He would have to find some way to put his dreams and fantasies of the older man to rest. Hannibal wouldn’t want him now, perhaps had never wanted him in the first place. And all Face hoped for now was the chance to have Hannibal in his life in some small way, even if that was just with the occasional conversation.


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal found his finger tightening on the trigger almost against his will, but he managed to pause before the bullet escaped. Options, he thought desperately, there had to be options here. Look at all the options. Don’t act too quickly. Don’t rush in.

The easy option, and perhaps the most obvious option, was to take the shot. One bullet was all that it would take, one clean shot that would take the man down and give Read a little more time to finish his task. Just one shot. 

BA, it seemed, had the same idea. “Boss, I don’t have a clear shot,” came the corporal’s voice, little more than a hiss in Hannibal’s ear over their comms. “You got it? He ain’t got much time otherwise.”

Read was nearly out of time, that much was true. The kid was exposed, planting a series of bugs around the outside of a shack known to be an occasional meeting place for a group of insurgents. Sheer bad luck that one man had shown up to the site with what looked like a delivery, crates that could contain anything from beer to the far-more-likely guns.

Nowhere for Read to hide, very little shelter – it was obvious to them all just what would happen when their Lieutenant was spotted. Hannibal couldn’t lose another man, he simply couldn’t. 

Yet still he hesitated. Was it the right thing to do, shooting the guy down? There shouldn’t be any risk in the action – silencers on all the team’s weapons, an obvious threat from the machine gun slung casually over the man’s shoulders.

Take the shot, he told himself firmly, finger tightening further on the trigger, muscles starting to cramp. They could clear away the body, finish planting the bugs, then get everything they needed when the rest of the gang turned up later. It might turn messy, perhaps, but Read was already in a messy situation. And running out of time.

But still, Hannibal hesitated. “I need – Give me a minute,” he whispered, knowing the mic on his collar would carry his words to his men. He shifted carefully from his crouch, dropping to lie flat on the hot, hard ground. He still had a perfect shot, as the man moved around unloading his crates. Getting closer and closer to the kid, ducked down behind a tiny fence. No cover at all, not really, a miracle he hadn’t been seen already. Read was pinned, nowhere to move to, no way to save himself.

Pinned just like Face had been, Hannibal’s traitorous mind insisted on reminding him, and he shook his head fiercely even as Murdock hissed, “Colonel, now would be good!”

“No,” he snapped, able to see Read flinch down even further behind his makeshift shelter when he heard over the radio. “No, there’s another way.”

“Hannibal, man, there’s no time!” BA again, and perhaps he was right, but if Hannibal’s instincts were wrong…

If he took the shot but missed. If he hit Read instead. If the man had time to radio his friends for help.

If Hannibal had taken the time to think when Face had been trapped all those months ago, things would have gone differently, he was sure of that. Now he had the time to think, and he took it. Not self-doubt, he told himself, just thinking. They had time. Read had a little time, surely, just a little more – 

“Colonel?” Murdock called, his voice high-pitched and clearly tense, but finally Hannibal had made his decision. He lowered his weapon, aching trigger finger relaxing at last. There was another way, he could see it now.

Voice firm, eyes locked on the huddled figure of his lieutenant, Hannibal shuffled back to his knees and started to move. “No, this is what we’re going to do, boys. Bosco, go around the back and come in from the road. Murdock, on the bike, and start singing.” Running now, staying down in a crouch, head low. “Read, kid, keep your head down a little longer and be ready to move when I say…”

* * *

Much to Hannibal’s frustration, Murdock stayed close on his heels from the first moment they arrived back at base, though the Colonel wanted nothing more than a few minutes alone with his thoughts before he had to make his report to General Morrison.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Captain,” he growled over his shoulder, watching as BA helped Read limp over towards the waiting medics.

Murdock said nothing, just staring at Hannibal with wide, sympathetic eyes.

Hannibal growled again, turning away and stalking off through the tents at speed. “Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped. “You should go get yourself checked over by the docs; you took a couple of hits yourself back there.”

Still not a word from the other man, but Hannibal didn’t have to look back to know Murdock was right there, practically jogging to keep up with the colonel’s longer stride. Breathing hard, frustrated as hell, Hannibal just sped up a little more, hoping to lose his annoying shadow.

“Dammit, Captain, give me some space. Don’t force me to make it an order – ”

“I’ll follow any order you give me, Colonel, but you don’t need to be alone right now.” A rare note of steel and determination in Murdock’s voice, though Hannibal knew better than almost anyone that his pilot was far stronger, both physically and mentally, than he appeared to be.

Swerving to avoid a passing jeep, Hannibal slowed his pace a fraction. Perhaps the younger man was right, in some small way – he was more rattled than he wanted to admit. Should’ve taken the shot, rather than trying something clever. Should have trusted his instincts, perhaps.

After another moment, with the noisy sounds of the camp all around them, Hannibal gathered his thoughts to speak again, though the words slipped out almost without conscious thought. “It worked, didn’t it?” Silence from behind him, though he knew Murdock had heard him. “Read’ll be fine. Just a few bruises.”

It had worked, he told himself again. It hadn’t worked perfectly, of course, but what plan ever did? They’d all walked away from the mission, more or less in one piece, and they’d got the job done. With less finesse than his usual plans, perhaps, but they didn’t get points for style.

“It worked, damn it.” Louder than he’d intended – he didn’t realise he’d shouted until he noticed two passing Privates jump away from him, one tripping over a crate. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to speak quieter, though he kept the force in his voice. “It worked, Captain, and we got the job done.”

“Due respect, Sir, but you hesitated.”

“No.” Hannibal stopped dead in his tracks, spinning on his heels to find Murdock’s serious face inches from his own. “I considered. I planned. I thought ahead. I did not hesitate.”

“You hesitated, Colonel, and you doubted yourself. You never doubt yourself.”

“Maybe I should.” Again, the words were out before he could really think about them, and Hannibal couldn’t stand the look of understanding that flashed over his pilot’s face. Murdock didn’t understand; none of them could understand. “I stopped and thought about what I was doing; that’s never a bad thing. The new plan was less of a risk, and it worked. Read is fine. You’re all fine.”

“You were thinkin’ about Face, right?” Murdock’s words sent a shiver down the Colonel’s spine. “Thinkin’ you should’ve hesitated back then? Thought about what you were doin’?”

“You’re out of line, Captain,” Hannibal hissed, waving a hand, trying to push the other man away even though Murdock wasn’t touching him. 

“Thinkin’ you couldn’t take another risk that might get someone hurt? Thinkin’ you shouldn’t take that shot, just in case things went wrong?”

“I’m warning you, Murdock – ”

“What happened to Face wasn’t your fault, Hannibal. You saved his life, by doin’ the only thing you could possibly do in a shitty set of circumstances.” Murdock’s rare use of profanity cut through Hannibal’s growing anger, but the pilot’s next words made him see red. “You can’t start second guessing yourself now, or one of us will get hurt or killed and it really will be your fault.”

He had both hands fisted in Murdock’s jacket before he even realised it, hauling the shorter man up onto his tiptoes, both of them breathing the same air. Murdock showed no fear, his gaze steady even though he had to know Hannibal could kill him in a heartbeat.

Hannibal felt fear, though, even as anger and adrenaline flooded his system.

Fear, and guilt. Overwhelming guilt more than anything. Guilt and realisation of what could have happened to Murdock, BA and Read. He could have made the same mistake all over again. He’d already destroyed Face’s life. In a heartbeat, the anger faded away as fast as it had arrived, but he stood frozen, unmoving, until – 

“Colonel?” At the sound of BA’s concerned voice, Hannibal abruptly lowered Murdock back to the floor, blinking fast in the bright sun and spying his corporal paused by a tent a little way back, muscles tensed and ready to move. “Colonel, Sir, I think you should step back from the Captain there.”

Murdock still stood before him, eyes narrowed and watching closely, but he made no move to step away until Hannibal very deliberately peeled his hands away from the smaller man’s jacket. Even then, Murdock only took half a pace back, though BA stepped up close behind him, clearly ready to step in and defend his friend if necessary.

The realisation that BA thought Murdock might need defending from him hit Hannibal hard. He would never lay a hand to anyone under his control, he knew that deep in his gut, but if his men were concerned enough about him to think that he might – what was he doing to his team?

“I’m sorry,” he told them both, shaking his head and taking a huge step backwards, giving his men some space. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, heaving a huge sigh. “You know I would never hurt you, either of you, or Read. You know I never meant to hurt Face.”

“You didn’t hurt Face. Face was already hurt.” BA’s voice was surprisingly soft, though all his muscles were visibly tense and ready for action. “You gotta go see him, Boss, you gotta get your head on straight.” 

Shaking his head again, Hannibal turned away. He couldn’t visit Face, he knew that, but he did need to find a way through this. It wasn’t fair on his team to put them at risk again. And he’d resolved to learn from his mistakes with Face, not to dwell on them. Obviously, he couldn’t do that and keep working with his team.

“I need some time,” he told BA and Murdock over his shoulder, already moving. He still had to report to Morrison, and perhaps it was time to take a short leave of absence.


	6. Chapter 6

“Face! Concentrate, soldier!” Hands stronger than his own caught the bar as it threatened to slip from his grip and crash down onto his chest, and Face let his physio lift the weights up and away from him without a fight.

“Sorry, shit…” Breathing hard, blinking away the black spots which danced in front of his eyes, he willingly dropped back to lay flat on the bench, reduced to simply watching as Captain Maria Miller quickly settled the weights safely out of the way. “I’m okay, my hand just slipped.”

Miller was straight back to him, warm fingers wrapping around his wrist to check his pulse. “Just stay still,” she told him firmly, eyes on the clock on the wall as she counted. “Breath deep for me.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Face could do little but obey. It had been going well, and he’d fought to keep his mind on the exercises which were becoming routine for him now, but one little slip in concentration was all it took. It was so frustrating, struggling to lift weights that would have been absolutely no bother at all just a few short months ago. He had to build up his upper body strength all over again, now, and it was slow work, especially with his mind elsewhere as it was today.

“I’m really fine,” he told Miller, blinking open his eyes to find the older woman watching him with shrewd eyes. “Really. I just – ”

“You just slipped, I know. But that’s not like you at all, Lieutenant. You’re usually one of my most hardworking patients.” The captain was right, he knew. It was something Face prided himself on, throwing himself into his therapy with everything he had left, but he couldn’t concentrate. Not after what he’d heard that morning. “Where’s your head at today?”

Face bit down his instinctive retort at his physio’s question. A variation on a theme – another way of asking him how he was feeling. At least a dozen different people asked him that every single day without fail, and he was really starting to hate it, though he kept telling himself it was nice to know people cared enough to ask. Even if they were just doing their jobs. 

From Miller, though, it wasn’t so annoying. She was one of the toughest physiotherapists at the rehab centre, with a reputation for making even the strongest soldiers cry in exhaustion, and she’d taken Face on with a certain level of glee, telling him she’d have him up and on his one remaining foot in no time at all.

Sure enough, barely three short weeks after starting to work with her, Face was physically feeling stronger than he’d have thought possible at this early stage of his recovery. He was able to move around competently enough on crutches over short distances, and able to manoeuvre reasonably well in a wheelchair for longer periods of time. His strength was returning slowly, and he still felt positive about his ability to get over the devastating loss of his leg.

He was still easily exhausted though, particularly after the gruelling workouts the Captain and her team put him through twice a day, but Face focussed on the benefits he could see and feel. He’d never shied away from hard work and he certainly wasn’t about to start now, even if the pain in his stump still stole his breath away frequently. 

Miller was still watching him patiently, waiting for an answer, her hand looser around his wrist now. The psychiatrists pushed him to talk, convinced he was hiding some deep depression, but Face appreciated the way his physio accepted that he just wanted to get on with things. The fact that she was asking now meant he’d worried her.

“I don’t know what you want to hear,” Face told her eventually, shifting a fraction on the workout bench, carefully adjusting his bandaged stump on the cushioned surface. “My head is still here, with the rest of me. I’m just a little distracted, I guess.”

“You heard the rumours, I take it?” Miller shifted from her position kneeling at his side to sit on the bench next to him, offering Face a hand to help him sit up. “About Colonel Smith?”

Face shook his head, sighing. He should’ve known – as a general rule, gossip spread like wildfire in military bases, and even faster in an enclosed environment like the rehab centre.

After a moment, he gave in. “I heard he was back at Benning, without the rest of the guys.”

Actually, Face had heard Hannibal had arrived back at Benning unexpectedly more than a week ago, word reaching him from several old friends still stationed at the base. He’d been so excited at first, thrilled to think he might finally get the chance to see his colonel again after so many months without contact. Their distance was still the one thing he was struggling with the most – he’d more or less come to terms with the loss of his leg and the loss of his career, but losing the close bond he’d had with Hannibal had been harder to cope with. BA and Murdock had stayed in touch as much as they could, but there had still been not so much as a phone call from Hannibal. Nothing, not even another letter. 

As the weeks then months had gone by, Face had been forced to accept that Hannibal had deliberately chosen not to make contact with him. In the first weeks after his return to the States, when he was still suffering through operations on what was left of his leg and battling the infection that had seized his weakened body, Face had told himself Hannibal was simply busy. He was a Colonel, after all, and couldn’t simply drop everything to rush to Face’s side. But both BA and Murdock had been back to the States on leave since then, as well as other friends and former colleagues who had visited Face, and so the only explanation was that Hannibal didn’t want to come.

And that hurt, almost as much as the phantom pain he battled nearly constantly in his missing limb. Face had thought they were close, had hoped they might even be more than just friends one day, but obviously he’d been wrong. Hearing Hannibal was finally back at Benning, just a short plane ride away, he’d hoped that perhaps, finally, his former CO would come to see how he was doing. After more than a week without even a phone call, though, he’d been forced to accept that wasn’t going to happen. 

Miller kept her tone neutral as she asked, “Are you expecting a visit?”

“I think he’ll be busy. Too busy for me.” Face just about managed to stop himself snorting with laughter, though he did shake his head again. “And you’re keeping me too busy for visitors anyway, right? Got to get back in shape as soon as I can.”

But the older Captain wouldn’t be dissuaded. “He’ll come, Lieutenant. I’m sure of it. If he doesn’t, he’s crazy.” A rare smile from the serious woman, and Face could see the beauty she must have been. The beauty she still was, really, if you went in for muscles bigger than BA’s and badly dyed hair cropped far too short. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I heard he did speak to Doctor Riley the other day.”

“What?” Face nearly fell off the bench as he spun around to stare at her, gasping in sudden pain as the move jarred his stump. Clutching at it with both hands as Miller leaned closer to steady him again, he corrected himself, “I mean, shit, I… sorry, Ma’am…”

“Thought I told you not to call me ‘Ma’am’?” the captain teased him gently, even as she guided him to lie back on the bench again, firm hands moving to massage the tender remains of his leg. True enough, she had told him time and again not to address her that way, but that was the main reason Face still did it. Just to tease her, in payback for all the pain she was putting him through in the name of healing. 

She still outranked him, though. “And I thought you didn’t deal in gossip, Captain, Sir?” That got a laugh out of her before she turned serious again.

“I’m sure he’ll come, Face,” she told him, but Face shook his head.

“Up to him. I don’t need him to.” And he pushed her gentle hands away, catching his breath and telling himself his words were true.

He didn’t need Hannibal. He didn’t miss him. He didn’t dream about being back by his side, in a tent in the middle of the desert.

He’d promised himself he would get better for Hannibal, to thank him for saving his life. But now Face knew he had to get better in spite of his former colonel. He’d thought Hannibal stayed away because he was busy, but there had to be more to it than that. Perhaps the close friendship Face had always cherished had actually only been a close working relationship – now Face was physically incapable of being the Ranger he had been, perhaps Hannibal had no more use for him. 

In truth, he was struggling not to feel abandoned by a man he had always secretly worshiped and longed for. And that was hardly something he could share with the psychiatrists at the rehab centre, so it had to be pushed aside and ignored. Physical pain he could cope with – there was no cure for abandonment.

A week Hannibal had been back at Benning. A whole damn week, and not so much as a phone call to Face. But apparently there had been time to call his doctors and get an update from them – what clearer sign could there be that Hannibal was done with him? Checking up with the doctors out of a sense of obligation, perhaps, or a faint sense of guilt. Nothing more.

Miller seemed to know Face didn’t want to talk any more, and she patted him on the arm once before moving over to retrieve the wheelchair from its place against the wall. “Let’s get you back to your room, Lieutenant.”

“What about the rest of the session?” They’d only been at it for half an hour before Face had nearly dropped the weights onto his own chest; they were usually at it for at least two hours, twice a day.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” With an uncharacteristic wink she efficiently helped Face shuffle into the chair, and he leaned back into it with a tired sigh as the physio started to push him. He had to admit he really wasn’t in the mood today, too distracted by thoughts of what Hannibal might be doing at Benning, no matter how hard he tried to think of other things. Wondering why Murdock and BA weren’t with him. Hoping everything was okay.

As they passed through the centre, Face managed to nod and smile as he saw people he knew, people who were becoming friends, slowly. It helped a lot, being in a centre like this with other injured Armed Forces personnel. Helped him to know he wasn’t alone, even though he felt it at times, and that there were others worse off than he was.

The Marine who had lost both legs and one arm to an IED, furious with the world and impossible to talk to. The young Private who had lost a hand to a grenade in a training accident, putting on a cheerful face yet waking every night screaming. Others like Face, who were trying to make the best of their situations and accepting whatever help they could, with varying degrees of success. 

He wasn’t alone, not really, even if Hannibal had abandoned him to the care of the Army. Tossed him aside like a useless piece of damaged body armour. 

A gentle touch on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts, just as they were approaching the small private room which had become his home in the last few months. “You want to head to the rec room instead?” Miller asked softly.

“No. But thanks,” he told her, not even needing to think twice about it. He wouldn’t be good company right then, and he’d probably get far more benefit from an extra nap before his lunchtime session with the counsellors in a couple of hours, rather than trying to be cheerful in a room full of other wounded servicemen and women. “Might just catch myself forty winks.”

Miller pushed him closer to the door, slowing her pace. “Don’t dwell on things, okay?” she told him after a moment of silence. “I know the psychiatrists tell you to think things through and talk about them, but don’t dwell on rumours and gossip. He’ll visit, or he won’t. He’ll call, or he won’t. You just have to concentrate on getting better. You’re doing everything right so far.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, grateful for her words. The positivity he’d struggled to keep hold of returned as he thought about what she said – he was doing everything he could, working as hard as his still-healing body would let him, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by gossip about his former colonel, who couldn’t even be bothered to phone his former lieutenant to see how he was doing. 

But then all that positivity went flying out of the window the very moment the Captain steered him into his room. Because sitting uncomfortably in the chair by the window, spine ramrod straight and hands clasped tightly in his lap, was Hannibal.


	7. Chapter 7

The moment Face appeared in the doorway, slumped in a wheelchair and looking completely exhausted, Hannibal immediately pushed up to his feet. Then he froze, feeling completely stupid and out of his depth. Face couldn’t stand to greet him, of course he couldn’t. How stupid he was.

For a moment he hovered, trying to decide if he should sit again, or if that would just be insensitive, but then reality caught up with him and he found himself letting out a long, slow breath. “Oh, kid. Face…”

His former lieutenant looked about as stunned as Hannibal felt, if not more so. As he watched, Face carefully sat up a little straighter in his wheelchair, raising one hand to comb backwards through his hair, wincing ever so slightly as he did so. And Hannibal’s eyes snapped down to Face’s legs. To his one leg, and his stump.

And he collapsed back down into his chair with a gasp.

Face gave a soft huff of laughter, shaking his head slowly. “Yeah. Not exactly a pretty sight, huh?”

Oh, that voice. That wonderful voice. Distantly, part of Hannibal’s mind registered just how much he’d missed the sound of Face’s voice, even rough with exhaustion as it was now. But he couldn’t find his own voice, reduced to simply staring helplessly at the man before him. He’d missed Face so much, but he shouldn’t have come here.

“You going to be okay from here?” Not Face – the unexpected voice made Hannibal start, until he registered the older woman behind Face, pushing his wheelchair. Hannibal had barely noticed she was there, so intent was he on drinking in the sight of his former lieutenant. She was addressing Face now, not him, one hand gentle on his shoulder and her head tilted down to see her charge’s expression.

But Face’s eyes were locked on Hannibal, even as Hannibal’s own eyes drifted back to the wreckage of Face’s previously strong legs. Almost overwhelming memories swept through him, of the last time he’d seen this man. Bleeding, unconscious, damaged beyond all repair. Of the time immediately before then, of screaming and fire and smoke and more screaming.

The older woman shook Face slightly, causing him to blink up at her. “Thanks, Captain. I’ve got it from here on in.”

Captain. Hannibal frowned; perhaps not a nurse or an orderly as he’d assumed from her simple blue tracksuit. A physiotherapist, maybe – he’d been told Face was at a session and couldn’t be interrupted, shown here to this tiny room to wait for him to finish. Two hours, he’d been told, but it had only been thirty minutes or so.

Too soon, after so many months determined to stay away. He shouldn’t have come, he’d known it was selfish of him to think he had any right to visit – 

“Colonel Smith.” The Captain-Physio waited until Hannibal managed to tear his gaze away from Face’s lap. She looked understandably cautious – she probably knew exactly what Hannibal had done to the man she was taking care of. He gave her a serious nod in an attempt to reassure her, still unable to find his voice, and she narrowed her eyes at him before patting Face on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later this afternoon, Lieutenant.”

Face grunted softly in acknowledgment, wide blue eyes just staring at Hannibal, amazement and surprise starting to replace the initial shock now. A jolt of sheer electricity shot up Hannibal’s spine when their eyes met and locked, and it was all he could do to keep breathing. And stare.

Staring right back at him, Face managed a small smile even as he wheeled himself closer to his bed, positioned in the centre of the little room. Surprisingly cosy and homely for a hospital room, but Hannibal remembered with a start that this was a long term care centre, not an emergency tent in the middle of nowhere.

This was Face’s home, for the time being. Had been his home for several months already. The small pile of books on the bedside table certainly looked familiar, including one or two Face had ‘borrowed’ from Hannibal years ago and never returned. An X-box, plugged into the television on the wall. A few framed photos, mostly of Face with the team – Face and Murdock, laughing together. BA and Murdock, passed out drunk after a night Hannibal remembered far too clearly for all the wrong reasons. The whole team together, Hannibal’s arm tight around Face’s shoulders.

Hannibal noticed it all in the fraction of a second it took for Face to snap on the brakes of his wheelchair, before their eyes met again over the bed, drawn back together almost like the tightening of an elastic band.

“I can’t believe you’re really here.” Face’s voice was flat, now. Stunned, perhaps, a tiny frown appearing on his forehead as he braced himself to stand, hands on the arms of the chair. “I think… I mean, I wasn’t sure that you’d…”

The stuttered words, so unlike the confident Face Hannibal had always known and loved, were lost in the loud buzzing that filled his ears as he watched his lieutenant – former lieutenant – push up from his seated position to balance awkwardly on his one leg.

So much more obvious like that, and so much worse, the damage he’d caused. Hannibal felt his heart clench tight in his chest, fighting the urge to turn away. He had to see, needed to see exactly what he’d done. What he’d done to Face, to the man he – 

Face wore simple PT shorts and a loose grey t-shirt. The shorts left very little to the imagination, and Hannibal felt more than a little sick as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. His gaze was drawn first, obviously, inexorably, to the absence. To the hideously empty space where Face’s left leg should have been.

The stump was more than visible, protruding – hanging – a few inches below the end of those shorts. Heavy bandaging, clean, white and clinical. So different from the blood, the hanging flaps of skin, the white flash of shattered bone…

Hannibal swallowed hard, blinking back into focus as he watched Face take one careful hop closer to his bed, hands braced on the mattress. He was speaking, had probably been speaking the whole time, his voice more confident now. Stronger, somehow. Getting into his stride, protective masks pulled firmly into place. Feelings tucked carefully away.

“ – getting easier to get around, now, at least,” Face was saying, turning carefully to sit down, his back to Hannibal for a moment before he swung himself up onto the bed and leaned back against the pile of pillows already in place. “ – couple of weeks ago I couldn’t even do this much, Captain Miller’s been working me pretty hard but she’s – ”

No better, seeing Face like that. Seeing the damage laid out on the bed in front of him was worse, if anything. Face’s right leg was free from any dressings, though there were obvious scars from the burns and lacerations he’d suffered, still red and a little raw but clearly healing well. And the stump, wrapped in layers of bandages, immediately cushioned as Face slipped a small pillow beneath his left side before reaching over for a blanket.

“ – still a bit sore, of course, but the painkillers are doing their job, and the physio does help, even though it – ”

Face’s voice seeped back into Hannibal’s consciousness and he managed to lift his eyes away from his lieutenant’s legs as the blanket settled into place over them, hiding them from view. Face was watching him closely, of course he was, a note of doubt and uncertainty visible in those incredibly blue eyes, along with something unreadable.

“ – easier every day,” Face continued, his voice softer now, long fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. “ – I’m working hard, Colonel, I’m doing everything I can, I promise – ”

Hannibal shook his head at that, a little overwhelmed. After everything he’d put this man through, after all the damage he’d caused, Face was really making him promises? Face should be cursing him, surely, screaming and shouting and raging, but he wasn’t.

“ – so, I know you spoke to my docs the other day, but you probably don’t know about the skin grafts or the – ”

Of course Face would know that, and Hannibal cursed himself mentally. He’d tried to stay away, so determined to give Face the chance to move on and salvage what was left of his life, but he’d found it impossible.

Selfish of Hannibal to be there at all. He’d returned to Benning determined to get his head on straight. Pushing himself to try to work through his guilt in the field hadn’t worked, hadn’t helped, and he’d put his men at risk. That was unacceptable. A break, perhaps, a change of pace to clear his thoughts. Paperwork and training was the easy and obvious choice. 

He’d felt bad, of course, for abandoning Murdock, BA and Read. But he’d have felt worse if one of them had been critically injured or killed because of him. They were fine without him, for now, all on temporary duties with other teams until Hannibal returned to them. He would have to return, sooner or later. Couldn’t hide forever. Not that he was hiding right then, he reminded himself. Just refocussing.

But he still hadn’t been able to focus, not knowing that Face was so close and already suffering because of his actions, and so he’d only lasted a few days before giving in to the selfish need to call Face’s doctors for an update. And after speaking to them, he’d had to come.

“ – Miller thinks maybe another couple of months still before they can really think about getting me a prosthetic, but there’s so much choice, y’know, and maybe I’ll be able to move out after that, manage in just the chair for a while, or with some crutches, until – ”

Move out? Of the rehab centre? Hannibal’s eyes snapped up to his boy’s face, practised gaze automatically taking in all the things Face wasn’t saying out loud, not in that stream of falsely-positive chatter he was still spouting. Face always did have the ability to fill a room with sound, to talk and talk and talk, without ever actually saying anything real.

Those blue eyes were still watching Hannibal, wary and obviously tired. Face had lost a little weight – impossible not to, of course, stuck in a facility like this – and his previously prominent cheekbones now stood out in sharp relief. Pale skin, no time or opportunity for tanning, though there were no dark shadows beneath his eyes. Sleeping okay, perhaps, the expected nightmares probably dulled by drugs.

He’d let his hair grow out a little too, Hannibal noted, as Face started telling him about some of the other inpatients. Those caramel curls Hannibal had always loved were darker now, somehow, here in the rehab centre and far away from the bleaching effects of the harsh desert sun. Some stubble on his chin, but on Face it just looked artful rather than careless.

And those eyes, so incredibly blue. He’d forgotten just how blue they really were, the clear and bright blue of the summer sky. So expressive, for those who knew how to read Face well. A hint of pain there now, and exhaustion, but no despair that Hannibal could see. Something that could have been longing, perhaps, a sign that Face was obviously missing his life in the Rangers. 

All in all, Face looked better than Hannibal could have ever hoped, if he could somehow ignore the horror of that bandaged stump. Still so handsome; nothing could ever change that, anyway, not in Hannibal’s eyes. And he knew Face’s voice well after so many years together. The positive note in his lieutenant’s words wasn’t faked, though Face was trying hard to hide the nervousness Hannibal could hear beneath the surface.

No blame, though. Why wasn’t there any blame?

It took Hannibal a long moment to realise Face had stopped talking, lost in his thoughts as he was. He sat back in his seat, then leaned forwards again, arms braced on his knees. Opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Closed his mouth again, clenched his jaw in frustration.

Face was watching him. Not staring, not anymore, but just sitting and watching him. The silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, though Hannibal knew it should have been, with so many months without contact and the loss of Face’s leg looming large between them. But in the end it had never been awkward or uncomfortable between the two of them, not even for a single moment. They’d spent long evenings together in complete silence, sitting side by side, just like this.

Not quite like this. Nothing like this at all, not ever.

The injured man was the first to break the silence again, his words little more than a whisper. “I’m so glad you came. I was starting to think – Well, I know you must’ve been busy, training my replacement.” Those bright blue eyes were steady, burning. “I hear good things about Lieutenant Read. I’m glad… I mean, I’m happy you’ve found someone.”

Hannibal could only shake his head again, throat tight with emotion. Should’ve said, he’s nowhere near the man you are. Should’ve told Face he could never be replaced, not really. Couldn’t find the words, though he tried – damn it, speaking had never been this hard before.

“I though you didn’t want to see me.” Face blurted the words out in one gasp, eyes dropping back to stare at his lap. At the obvious and irreparable damage Hannibal had caused him. “But I wanted to see you. I was angry, a bit, but now I’m just glad you’re here. I’m so glad. I missed you, Boss.”

Tell him, Hannibal thought desperately, licking his dry lips, blinking against the harsh light of the room. Tell him how sorry you are. Tell him you miss him too, though you know you can never make this all up to him.

But Face, of course, ploughed straight on, in that surprisingly vulnerable whisper.

“I missed you. I missed talking to you. Missed you just being here, being strong for me. I know that’s stupid, and selfish of me. I should be able to be strong all by myself.” Face laughed, suddenly, dropping his head back into the pillows and staring at the ceiling. Hannibal could see his eyes glittering suspiciously in the overhead lights and his heart broke, just a fraction more. “I need to say this, Colonel, ‘cause I don’t know how long you’re here for, or if I’ll ever see you again. But I have to say, if it wasn’t for you, I know I wouldn’t be here at all – ”

“I know.” Hannibal’s voice was rough, the words coming out as more of a bark as he finally managed to force them past the lump in his throat. “I know, Lieutenant. And if I could change things, I would. You have to know that. I am so incredibly sorry for what I did. I know that won’t help you, but I really am sorry, and I had to tell you.”

Face’s head snapped back down, and those blue eyes were staring at Hannibal again, his mouth agape. “What do you mean?” he breathed softly, clearly confused.

“It was all my fault. Everything, that whole damn mission – I should never have let it all go on so long. Should’ve seen what could happen. And then after it all went so badly wrong, when you were trapped, I should have waited. Should never have even tried to move you.”

“Hannibal, I don’t – ”

“Face, I as good as ripped your leg off.” That stopped the other man speaking completely, pale face visibly turning a shade whiter. It suddenly occurred to Hannibal that Face might really not have known. Had no one told him, all this time? He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see his former lieutenant’s reaction to his next words. “Kid, it was my fault for moving you. It’s my fault you’ve lost your leg. My fault you’re here and not back with the Rangers where you belong. My fault that you… that you’re…”

He found he couldn’t finish, the words choking him once again. Maimed. Disfigured. Mutilated. Changed forever.

The silence between them was heavy, that time, loaded with tension where before it had seemed so easy. Hannibal could hear Face breathing, short gasps that spoke of shock as much as pain, and he fought to keep his own breathing steady. This would be it. This would be the moment when Face would shout and scream, cursing Hannibal and telling him to leave, telling him he should never come back. And Hannibal knew he deserved all that, and more. So much more.

He kept his eyes closed, dropping chin to chest, shoulders slumping. Breathed in, and breathed out again. Breathed in, recognising the familiar scent of the man before him, the man he could have loved – he could admit that much to himself, now he was in Face’s company for what would almost certainly be the last time.

But the expected words of hatred and recrimination never came, the silence growing so heavy and oppressive Hannibal felt he could barely breathe. Seconds seemed to stretch into hours, days, weeks, before finally Face spoke up.

“No.” So soft, so quiet. Barely more than a breath of escaping air. “No, Hannibal.”

He opened his eyes, expecting to see hatred twisting Face’s pale yet handsome features, only to find he couldn’t bring himself to look at the man he’d hurt so badly. “I’m so sorry,” he said again, knowing it could never be enough. “I shouldn’t have come. But I had to tell you in person, even though I understand you can never forgive me. I apologise with all my heart, and I hope someday you can find some happiness.”

With those words, he pushed to his feet once more, straightening his shirt automatically before moving towards the door. Even as he walked, eyes locked firmly on the floor, Hannibal knew it was the cowardly way out – he should stay, let Face have his say, but he simply couldn’t. Couldn’t even find the strength to say goodbye. He should never have come in the first place, though at least his former lieutenant now knew the truth.

“Hannibal, wait! Please, boss, don’t go like this!” Face called after him, even as Hannibal closed the door firmly behind him, heart breaking into a million pieces as he left. “Hannibal, please, listen to me, there’s nothing to forgive, please – ”

But Hannibal kept walking, kept moving. Couldn’t stay any longer, should never have come here, should never have been so selfish. Face didn’t know what he was saying, clearly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered again.

“Hannibal!” Face’s cry echoed down the corridor after him, but he just picked up his speed, shaking his head. 

“Colonel?” Hannibal was startled to find the Captain-physio – Miler? – hovering at the end of the corridor, a folder of notes in her hand. “Is everything okay? Is Lieutenant Peck – ?”

Pushing past her, Hannibal was at least glad she was there. Perhaps she had known Face would be upset by his visit, or perhaps she genuinely had other business to attend to. “Go check on him,” he growled at her, not stopping. “Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him… goodbye.” 

And he forced himself to keep right on going, even as Face called out for him again and again, even as the Captain followed him out to the street. He wasn’t running away, but he really should never have come. Face’s words rang in his ears, skin grafts and physiotherapy and prosthetics and so much more. 

Those final words, too, the words Hannibal hadn’t expected to hear. Hadn’t wanted to hear, though they had crept into his mind regardless and taken root.

Don’t go like this. There’s nothing to forgive.

Nothing to forgive? Face didn’t know what he was saying, surely. 

But a part of Hannibal wanted him to be right.


	8. Chapter 8

Hannibal packed as quickly as he could, thankful he’d brought very few belongings with him in the first place. Decades of living life in the Rangers, ready to move at a moment’s notice, meant he owned little that couldn’t be fitted into a kit bag, and he’d only planned to stay a day or two in Texas anyway.

Stupid, he told himself again and again, shoving shirt after pants after shoes into the bag. He’d been so incredibly stupid to have come in the first place. So selfish, so weak. 

Should never have come. Should have stuck to his instincts and stayed away. Should have worked from behind the scenes to makes sure Face had everything he could ever need, but should never have dared presume to visit.

But it had been almost magnetic, the pull he’d felt towards Face, the pull he still felt now. It had always been there, in the background, for all the years he’d worked with the incredible younger man. A mixture of love and longing and respect and wonder. It had never been an issue, and Hannibal had been able to cope with it, always. 

Not even so much of an issue when Face had first been sent back to the States, since Hannibal had felt so terribly guilty that any magnetic pull had been lost, swamped beneath the waves of guilt which overtook everything. But being back at Benning, knowing Face was so near, speaking to his doctors…

“Stupid man,” he hissed to himself, stalking angrily through to the tiny bathroom to grab at his toothbrush and razor. Why he’d ever even unpacked was beyond him. Habits of a lifetime, he supposed. “Should never have come.”

Face hadn’t known what he was saying at the end, surely. Nothing to forgive – he had no idea, and Hannibal didn’t have the strength to stay and convince him otherwise. No, better to let his poor, wounded lieutenant deal with the new information in his own time, and for Hannibal to just get the hell out of there.

Hannibal would just have to find some way to ignore the instinctive pull he felt, that feeling that he needed to go to Face, to be with him, to reassure him, to protect him. Just as he’d have to find some other way to deal with his guilt over what he’d done – had he really thought Face could ever forgive him? 

At least Face had looked well, or so much better than Hannibal had expected. The sight of the stump that remained of his boy’s leg had stolen his breath away, but it had been clean and bandaged, and Face had stood up, just for a moment. He was clearly coping, somehow, miraculously. Face was a survivor, Hannibal knew that much, and perhaps he should take a leaf out of the younger man’s book.

Find a way to survive. Find a way to live with it all, and just move on. Let Face go once and for all.

And hope he hadn’t set Face’s recovery back too much with his selfish visit. 

Suddenly, there was a heavy pounding at the door, and Hannibal paused, frowning, as he shoved the last of his things into the bag and tugged the drawstring tight. He wasn’t expecting anyone; no one knew he was here, or that he was leaving. He hadn’t even called a taxi yet.

More pounding, heavier still, then an impossible voice called out, “Hannibal? Open the door, boss, please.” It couldn’t be. Simply not possible, and Hannibal just stood frozen in the middle of the room as Face hammered on the door again. “Open the damn door, Hannibal. I can’t exactly kick it down, now, can I?”

He had to smile a little at that, in spite of everything, in spite of the way his heart had started racing and his chest had tightened. Two long strides took him across the tiny room, and he hesitated only a second before throwing the door open wide.

“What are you doing here, kid?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain steady, failing to keep his hands from shaking. “How did you know – ?”

“I know you too well after all these years, boss.” Face was in a wheelchair, alone, glaring up at him angrily. “You gonna let me in or are we really going to have this conversation in the corridor?” 

Opening the door wider, standing back as much as he could in the confined space, Hannibal watched as Face wheeled himself very carefully inside, finding a space beside the bed where he could turn around until they were facing each other. 

He closed the door before moving slowly to sit on the bed, beside his obviously packed kitbag, and forced himself to meet Face’s gaze. “I was going to – ” he started to explain, but Face cut him off with an angry wave of his hand.

“You were going to run away, again. How dare you, Hannibal? You really think this is all about you?”

“What?” The sheer force of Face’s anger rocked Hannibal backwards in shock, and he braced himself with one hand on the flimsy mattress. “No, kid, this isn’t about me at all. It’s about you, about what I did to you.”

“What you did to me was save my life. I should have died that day, but you saved my life. My leg was already lost, and I would have bled to death within minutes. But you saved my life.” The younger man looked so earnest in his anger, even as pale and thin as he was. The faded sweatshirt he wore did nothing to disguise his thinner frame, and he still wore those PT shorts, his bandaged stump right there for all to see.

“Face, I should have…”

“If you tell me you should have waited, I’ll hit you as hard as I can.” Hannibal didn’t doubt that Face would try, though he had to doubt how strong the kid’s punch would be. “If you’d waited I’d have died. You might have died along with me. The mission certainly wouldn’t have been a success.”

“The mission didn’t matter, not for a moment, not after I saw you trapped like that. You were the only thing that mattered, then and now.” Hannibal managed to catch himself before he went too far down that line of thought. “And regardless of what you say, my actions caused this.”

“You say it’s about me, not you. Why can’t you accept what I’m saying? Listen to me, boss – I don’t blame you at all, I never have done. You saved my life. I can live with only one leg, I can move on, I can survive. I can’t live with knowing you blame yourself for what happened, when nothing was your fault.”

Why couldn’t he accept it? Hannibal screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head slowly, replaying everything that had happened that terrible day in a split second. Was Face right? Might they both have died in that burning building if Hannibal had taken the time to think about what he was doing?

“Please listen to me, Hannibal. Please.” The anger seemed to have gone from Face’s voice now, to be replaced by a note of begging that tore at Hannibal’s heart. “Please understand what I’m saying. It wasn’t your fault. It really wasn’t. You saved my life, and I’ll be grateful to you until the day I die.”

Hannibal shook his head again, swallowing hard. For the first time, tears prickled at the backs of his eyes, but he tried to force them down. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Face whispered again. “You did the right thing. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh, Face…” Hannibal sighed, blinking his eyes back open to find the younger man had moved closer in his wheelchair, their legs practically touching now. He held out a hand and Face reached out for him at the same time, their fingers locking together tightly. Face felt so incredibly warm and alive. “I’m sorry.”

A frown rippled over Face’s handsome brow. “I thought I just told you – ”

“Not for that,” Hannibal said quickly, though he knew deep down it would take some time for him to really accept that things hadn’t been his fault. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I thought you would be blaming me, that I was the last person you would want to see.”

“So that’s why you stayed away. Why you never even phoned.” Face’s turn to shake his head then, before he took a deep breath and managed to carry on, his words showing a little of his previous anger once again. “I just thought you wanted nothing more to do with me. That I was useless to you, now I can’t be a Ranger any longer. That you didn’t want me to be part of your life anymore.”

Hannibal struggled for words for a long moment, not knowing how to say what he really felt for this incredibly brave and special young man in front of him. “That’s so far from the truth,” he murmured eventually, his eyes drifting back down to Face’s legs. No, to his one leg, and the wheelchair – “How did you get here?” he asked, suddenly. “How did you know where I was? Should you even be out of the rehab centre?”

A soft laugh, and Hannibal looked up to see those bright blue eyes shining at him. “Come on, boss, it’s me you’re talking to! A quick couple of phone calls and I knew where you were.” Hannibal had to smile himself at that. He should have known; Face had always been able to achieve the seemingly impossible, when he put his mind to it. “Captain Miller came to check on me after you stormed off, and I talked her into driving me over. She helped me as far as the elevator – she’s waiting downstairs to take me back.”

Their laughter and their smiles faded in an instant, though they were still holding hands. Hannibal squeezed his boy’s hand a little tighter, sighing. What could he possibly say?

But as always Face knew the right words, sitting up a little straighter in his chair and hiding a wince as his stump shifted on the seat. “Don’t go,” he told Hannibal firmly. “Please, stay a little longer. Come back with me. Come see a physio session – I’ll show you how well I’m doing. Don’t leave me, not yet. Not now you’re finally here.”

Hannibal finally heard all the things Face wasn’t saying out loud, all the things he should have thought of earlier, all those months ago when Face was first injured. His lieutenant had been abandoned by so many people in his life, starting with his parents when he was just a small boy, and Hannibal had done the exact same thing. Of course Face would be feeling that Hannibal hadn’t wanted him anymore, that he was useless without both legs.

“Face, listen to me,” he started, shifting on the bed until they were face to face, and reaching out with his free hand to clasp his former lieutenant on the shoulder. “Of course I’ll stay, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you all this time. Whatever you need, whatever you want, I’ll try to get for you. Anything you need.”

“All I need right now is you.” Face blurted out the words, then immediately blushed a bright red, his mouth hanging open in shock. “I mean, what I mean is, Colonel, I…”

All Hannibal could do was smile at him, though those tears were pricking at his eyes once again. “I missed you so much,” he told Face in a whisper, feeling the shiver that passed through the younger man at his words. When Face stayed silent, he took a deep breath and added, “Nothing’s been the same without you by my side.”

“Same here,” Face breathed after a second, that adorable blush still visible on his cheeks. 

They sat there a little longer, still holding hands, Hannibal still clutching at Face’s shoulder, just staring at each other. Hannibal tried not to think too hard about what was happening – it all felt like a dream. He was fairly sure Face didn’t mean it the way Hannibal meant it, but perhaps there was something they could salvage out of this disaster. Friendship, hopefully, even if it could never be anything more.

After a few minutes, the atmosphere began to grow too heavy, and Hannibal shifted again on the bed, watching as Face blinked back to life. “Come on, kid,” he said softly. “Let’s get you back to Captain Miller.”

Face let go of his hand reluctantly, letting Hannibal stand up. “You’re coming with me?” he asked, dropping his hands to the wheels of his chair in readiness to get moving. “We’ve still got a lot to talk about.”

“Of course I am.” Neither of them were good at talking honestly, though Hannibal knew they’d done surprisingly well so far that day. There were still some difficult and impossible things that needed to be dealt with, but perhaps they had a chance to get through it all, somehow. Face was still angry, deep down, and Hannibal couldn’t blame him for that. He had his own feelings of guilt to deal with, though Face’s words had started to make him see just how blinkered and selfish he’d really been, staying away so long and refusing to listen to what people were telling him. And there were Murdock, BA and Read to consider too, in all of this, though Face was by far the most important thing. 

“Let’s do this, then.” Face smiled widely at him, though his own eyes were suspiciously moist in the light from the window. “Miller’s going to be pissed enough at me as it is, without me keeping her waiting any longer!”

Abandoning the bulging kitbag on the bed, Hannibal let Face leave the small room first, following him into the corridor and shutting the door firmly. He hesitated a moment before placing his hands on the handles of the wheelchair. “Would you let me?” he asked softly, waiting for Face’s nod before he started to push. 

And just like that, Hannibal had hope they could really find a way through this. Perhaps he could win Face’s trust back, and could really find some way to deal with his lingering feelings of guilt. Perhaps their relationship would never be what it was before, and Hannibal would have to give up on any remaining dreams of being with the handsome and brilliant young man Face had grown into, but he’d settle gladly for whatever Face offered.

Though the memory of Face clinging onto his hand as they talked gave Hannibal a surprisingly warm feeling, deep in his stomach, and he found himself hoping. In a way he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for a long time.


	9. Chapter 9

Hannibal could hear them from what seemed like a mile away, as he wound his way through the camp towards the team’s tent. Could hear all three of them, Murdock and Read singing out of tune at the top of their lungs, while BA shouted at them to shut the hell up.

He checked his watch with a slight frown as he approached. Too early for them to be drunk, surely – of course there was officially no alcohol on the base anyway – but nothing was impossible with his boys. Still, it was far more likely they were just enjoying being back together after their month apart.

Hannibal had never planned to stay away so long, but he’d spoken to each one of them over the phone, told them what was happening. Explained that he was with Face. And they’d all understood, each of them reassuring their colonel that they were okay, and actually enjoying their temporary assignments.

Still, it would be good to be back together, Hannibal thought, good to get on with their jobs. He was ready now, or as ready as he could ever be. Ready for life to go on. Ready to move forwards at last, with Face’s blessing and his promise, warm in Hannibal’s heart.

He paused outside the tent for one final moment, smiling and wincing simultaneously as his Captain and Lieutenant tried and failed to harmonise on a tune he vaguely recognised. Breathed in the hot, dry desert air, soaked up the familiar sounds of camp life bustling around him. It really was good to be back. This was where he belonged, even if he had left a part of himself back in the states with Face.

A wordless bellow from BA and the unmistakable sound of something breaking into a thousand pieces jolted Hannibal back into action, and he took the last few steps before throwing open the tent flap and stopping dead in the entrance.

Immediately, his eyes took in the utter chaos of what had probably been a well-organised living space once upon a time, and the three men frozen in astonishment staring up at him. Murdock was wearing what looked like a sheet, draped like a toga over his customary Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. BA had his hand fisted into the sheet, twisting it out of shape as he towered over the smaller man, big muscles bulging in his tight vest. Read was on the floor, in BDUs rather than a makeshift toga, sitting in the wreckage of what might have previously been a wooden crate. 

The expressions of all three Rangers moved rapidly from surprised to guilty to ashamed as Hannibal just glared at them, then in the next instant they all dissolved into giggles simultaneously.

“You’re early, boss!” BA was the first to find his voice, dropping his fistful of Murdock and crossing over to offer Hannibal a fistbump, which the colonel returned automatically. “Sorry, we were gonna be all cleared and tidy, but these two fools – ”

“Who’re you callin’ a fool, fool?” Murdock chirped predictably, tripping over his sheet as he hurried over to stand in front of Hannibal. “Hi there, sir!” he said, popping a quick salute before wrapping the colonel in a quick bear-hug that just about squeezed the life from him. “Welcome back!”

Read was less quick to find his feet, shifting awkwardly amidst the broken pieces of crate until BA leaned over to haul him up. Even then the Lieutenant just hovered awkwardly in the middle of the wreckage, stuttering, “Colonel Smith, Sir… Hannibal, err…”

As much as Hannibal tried to keep a straight face, at the look of horror on the young man’s face he simply couldn’t keep it up. “At ease, boys,” he chuckled, shaking his head at the state of the tent as well as the state of the three men before him, leaning forwards to offer Read a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you all.”

Murdock, BA and Read all heaved obvious sighs of relief, sitting down on whatever piece of furniture was nearest, as Hannibal dropped his heavy kitbag onto his own, thankfully intact, bunk on the far side of the tent. “You okay?” Murdock was the first to ask, settling cross-legged on top of a metal storage box. “Is he okay? Was everythin’ okay? Flight all okay?”

“I’m okay.” Hannibal looked his pilot straight in the eye, remembering one of the last times he’d seen the man before his return to the States. Murdock had been the one to confront him about his behaviour, about the way he had been letting his guilt affect his actions. Murdock had been the one he’d grabbed hold of in a fit of anger. He offered the captain an apologetic smile and a nod. “Really. I’m okay. A whole lot better for seeing Face, and talking to him.”

“Told ya!” Murdock crowed in obvious triumph, leaning sideways to punch BA lightly on the arm. “Didn’t I tell ya?”

“We all said it, idiot!” BA ignored Murdock as he continued to lightly hit his arm, turning curious chocolate eyes on Hannibal instead. “How’s he doin’? With the physio and everythin’?” 

Taking a breath, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he sat, Hannibal started to tell him men just how Face was, knowing they would want every little detail. Even as he told them as much as he could about the endless physiotherapy sessions and the doctors’ hopes for Face’s future, his mind wandered and he found himself thinking about how his own feelings had changed during his time with his boy. “Throwing everything into it, as you might imagine…”

Actually seeing what Face was going through on a daily basis had put everything into a whole new perspective for Hannibal. It had made Basic seem like a walk in the park, and it had been incredibly hard to witness at times.

At first, it had made Hannibal’s lingering guilt a thousand times worse. Watching Face struggle to stand with a pair of crutches. Seeing how much harder he had to work to lift weights which would have been easy for him a year ago. Spotting the pain he tried to hide when Captain Miller made him practise movements with his stump.

But seeing how determined Face was, how incredibly hard he was working in spite of the obvious pain and exhaustion he was feeling – seeing all of that had been inspiring. If Face was working that hard to get over what had happened, Hannibal knew he could do nothing less.

He couldn’t let his feelings of guilt control him. He had to find the strength to forgive himself, even if Face kept telling him over and over again that there was nothing to forgive. Watching Face struggle determinedly through getting and keeping control over his new body gave him the strength he needed.

Hannibal didn’t tell his three men everything, of course. He told them about some of the sessions he’d sat in on, about Face’s determination. About how the swelling on his stump had gone down so much the doctors thought they might be able to start fitting him for a prosthetic sooner than they’d hoped, and how excited Face was by the prospect, despite the obvious new challenges he’d be facing when the time came.

“Wow.” Read was the first to speak up again when Hannibal ran out of words, lost in the memories. “Sounds like he’s working really hard, and doing everything right. He’ll be up on two feet in no time.”

Murdock and BA had listened in deep concentration as Hannibal talked, both men staring at him and incredibly focussed considering what they had been doing before the colonel arrived. They’d asked a few questions, just clarifying things the doctors had said, and then BA asked, “And he’s copin’ okay with everything else, with being on his own? Not being here, y’know, not…”

“Not being a Ranger,” Murdock finished quietly, huddled in on himself a little and clearly missing his best friend. “Not being with us every day. It’s so strange not having him here all the time.”

After a moment’s thought, Hannibal nodded. “He’s coping,” he told them softly. “It isn’t easy, but he’s coping, and he’s not depressed. He’s a survivor.” All three men in front of him nodded back, though Read looked a little uncomfortable, a little detached. Again, Hannibal had to remember the young lieutenant hadn’t really known Face, and he was only there with the team in the first place because Face had been so badly injured. “He sends his best to you all, and he also sent these.”

Digging into his kitbag, Hannibal produced three wrapped packages. Only wrapped in brown paper and far too much sticky tape, but Face had always been a man who valued content more than packaging. He handed them out carefully, making sure to catch Read’s eye and offer the kid a reassuring smile as he did so.

“Ooh, pressies! I love pressies!” Murdock cooed, as he tore into his own gift with enthusiasm. “Yay! Comic books! Thanks, Facey!”

BA was typically more reserved as he opened his package, a wide smile and a pleased nod the only response as he found a whole new batch of MMA DVDs. Read, however, looked nothing but confused. “One for me, sir?” he asked hesitantly, holding his unopened gift in the same way he might handle an unexploded grenade. “But, Lieutenant Peck – ”

“Sent the whole team a few home comforts,” Hannibal cut in, pulling out his own gift – a box of the finest Cubans known to man. “You’re a part of this team now, kid. Face doesn’t bear you any ill-will.” 

Read smiled, finally tearing into the parcel. “How on earth is he coping so well?” he asked, as the paper fell away to reveal several boxes of the lieutenant’s favourite – and hard-to-find – chocolates. Hannibal was impressed; Face had clearly done his research. “He must be an incredible guy. I don’t think I could manage if something like that happened to me. Losing my team, losing my leg…” 

“He is an incredible guy. And there’s good help available at the rehab centre,” Hannibal told him, lighting up one of those cigars and inhaling deeply. “Counselling sessions and group therapy and so on. I sat in on a few…” 

Hannibal had been surprised to learn Face willingly spent time with a counsellor every day. He’d also been surprised at the number of group sessions and activities his boy participated in. It had been quite an eye-opener to see just how much help was on offer at the rehab centre, and how much help Face was accepting, even if he knew for a fact his boy wasn’t telling them everything. He wasn’t hiding the important things, at least, which was a huge step forwards for Face who used to hide everything behind one of a million masks. 

A large part of Hannibal still found it impossible to talk about his feelings of guilt. At first, he’d wait in Face’s little room while the younger man went to a therapy session. Then, after Face’s hesitant request, he’d sat in silence as his boy talked with a psychiatrist about his feelings of hope for the future, as well as the times when he did struggle with everything. About how pleased he was to actually have a future to plan, even if it was so very different from the one he’d always imagined for himself.

Hannibal had sat in on group sessions too, seeing some of the other patients at the centre and how different they all were. Had seen how some were struggling, clearly depressed and angry at the injustice life had dealt them. Had noticed how Face really did seem to coping so much better, somehow staying so positive and trying to help the others to see things the way he did.

And finally, somehow, Face had gotten Hannibal to talk. For both of them to talk to each other, with a counsellor listening impassively on the other side of the room.

Only Face could have done that, Hannibal marvelled even now. Only his clever, brilliant, brave boy could have got him to a point where he could talk about the sometimes crippling feelings of guilt he still felt when he looked at what remained of Face’s left leg.

If he’d only waited for help, Face’s leg might have been saved. If he’d only aborted the mission sooner, after the bad intel and shitty weather, after unpleasant surprise after unpleasant surprise.

Face had kept telling him no, never blaming him. Face had kept on thanking him, telling him that fateful mission had just been one of those terrible missions that happened sometimes, that no one could have planned for. Telling Hannibal he’d rather be alive with one leg than dead with two.

The counsellor would nudge Hannibal very gently when they reached that point, probing questions asked in a soft and non-threatening manner, though the colonel could always feel his hackles rising instinctively. He’d ask, why did Hannibal always have to be the man with the plan? Why was it his fault rather than the general who had sent them on the mission in the first place? Rather than the insurgents who had stupidly tried to fly a helicopter in the middle of a brutal storm? Why wasn’t it Face’s fault, even?

Hannibal had snapped at that comment, hurling his chair across the room as Face had watched with wide eyes. He was the one in charge, he had raged. He was the one giving the orders. Of course it was his fault. His actions had brought them to this point. His hands had caused the worst of the damage.

But to his surprise, after the initial outburst had passed, when he stood breathing hard in the middle of the room, he wasn’t at all sure he believed in what he was saying. Face had a point, as hard as it was to accept. The psychiatrist had a point, too. 

Was there even really anyone to blame for what had happened? As Face had told him – as Murdock had told him, as BA and Read and dozens of other soldiers and friends had told him time and time again – was it just a bad job gone bad? Should he just have been grateful they all made it out alive, one way or another?

Hannibal had tried to put himself in Face’s position. Would he rather be alive with one leg than dead with two? And the answer had been a definite ‘yes’.

But again Hannibal kept it brief as he gave highlights to Murdock, BA and Read, not wanting to divulge any details of the things he and Face had discussed, both with and without the presence of psychiatrists and counsellors. The important things hadn’t been said in those sessions anyway. No, the important things had been said when they were alone, both in words and in gestures.

He didn’t tell his men all the conclusions he’d reached, or was close to reaching. Didn’t tell them how different he felt now, how the guilt over what had happened and what he’d done was still there on some level, but he was ready to move on. He could be the strong and decisive colonel once again, knowing Face bore him no ill-will. Knowing quite the opposite, in fact. 

He’d spent every evening with Face during his stay, and in many ways it had been as if they’d never been apart. Face had usually been exhausted, and often in pain, though he’d made every effort to be good company regardless.

By mutual agreement, though they’d never spoken directly about it, the evenings had been easy, comfortable and free from pressure. Often, Hannibal had smuggled in a takeout of some description. Other times, they’d laughed together over the rehab centre’s typical hospital food, including the obligatory green jello – though, in all honesty, it hadn’t been all that bad, reminding Hannibal again that the centre was a long-term facility with more home-comforts than he might have expected.

TV or videogames for entertainment most nights, though Hannibal was always useless at the latter. And easy conversation, just talking about anything and everything and nothing as they’d always done. Comfortable silences when Face would doze lightly on his bed, and Hannibal would just sit quietly and watch in amazement until the nurses came to chase him out.

They had never talked about the future on those lazy evenings, though. Nor of the past, and what had happened to lead them to that point. They had done enough of that during the day. Their evenings together were simple and wonderful, even with the shadows that hung over them – soon, Hannibal would have to return to duty and Face would have to continue his rehabilitation alone for a time, until one of his friends could take more leave in order to visit.

Hannibal had missed Face’s company so very much, more than he’d imagined. So many nights they’d spent alone together before BA and Murdock joined their team, nights spent with only each other for company, miles from civilisation at times. It had obviously not been the same being together in a rehab centre rather than in a tent in the desert, but it had been so much better than being apart.

As the weeks had passed and Face had grown stronger before Hannibal’s eyes, their evenings lasted longer. They would sit shoulder to shoulder on the bed as they watched some mindless drama show. Hands would brush and linger as they passed takeout containers between them. Those bright blue eyes, still shadowed in tiredness, would lock onto Hannibal’s, and it would be almost impossible to look away.

It was as if something had changed between them, something beyond the obvious. Hannibal wasn’t Face’s CO any longer, and Face had proved himself to be the stronger man in dealing with everything that had happened to them both. They didn’t acknowledge it, but something had changed, and Hannibal had found himself hoping and dreaming in a way he never normally allowed himself.

Again, he didn’t tell his team much of that, as they sat together in a tent in the desert. Instead, he answered their questions, though in truth there were few. Murdock and BA had both managed to speak to Face by phone several times during Hannibal’s stay, and each time the colonel had quietly slipped from the room to give them some time to catch up.

And then, the day both he and Face had been dreading had arrived at last, and Hannibal had to return to duty, firstly back to Benning for a few days then back out here. Back to a messy tent in the middle of the desert, back with the three men who now made up his team. 

Leaving Face had been one of the most difficult things Hannibal had ever had to do. After everything they’d been through together in the past, and after the closeness they’d regained and even deepened during those weeks together at the rehab centre, it was almost too difficult.

Face was incredible, Hannibal knew that deep in his heart, and he would continue to cope. The lieutenant was still undecided on what he would do with his future, and Hannibal had tried not to push him one way or another, knowing it had to be Face’s decision. He hoped his boy would look seriously at the idea of working for the Army in another capacity, though hopefully not in a training role – he thought the lieutenant’s brilliant mind would be wasted in such a job, even though at the same time he knew the younger man would be a wonderful inspiration to countless new recruits. No, Hannibal had suggested Face look at working in Intel or even in one of the logistics and planning divisions.

More than a little selfish of him, of course, to dream that Face would be waiting there in uniform whenever Hannibal came home to Benning. He could see it now, Face walking with his new prosthetic limb, perhaps using a smart metal cane for support. Waiting there for Hannibal with a huge smile, welcoming him home, telling him about everything he’d been doing, asking how things were going.

So incredibly selfish of him, he knew, and he really had tried not to push Face in any one direction. His brilliant boy would be just as amazing out of the Army too, and Face had talked a little bit about going back to college, retraining in something completely different. Maybe it had just been Hannibal’s imagination, but Face had never seemed quite so enthusiastic when he spoke about that idea. And it had given him even more hope.

Hannibal still felt guilty about everything that had happened, and he thought he always would, a little. But now he could accept that it wasn’t his fault Face had lost his leg. Yes it was terrible, and yes it was horribly unfair, but it was part of the risks of the job they had all signed up to do. He could be glad Face was alive and still with them – and he was incredibly, unbelievably glad of that fact, and so very proud of how his boy was dealing with everything.

Even looking at what was left of Face’s left leg had lost its shock value. Hannibal had seen the stump without bandages too, had seen the scars from skin grafts and had winced in sympathy at the misshapen muscle and bone obvious beneath stretched skin. But as time passed he’d accepted it, as Face obviously had – it was part of Face, and it didn’t make Hannibal feel sick with guilt when he looked at it now. 

Still, that final goodbye had arrived sooner than either of them had wanted, and Hannibal had struggled to find the right words to leave his boy with. A part of him had wanted to apologise all over again, while another part of him wanted to say something to acknowledge the closeness they’d rebuilt. 

Instead, he’d just stood there awkwardly, while Face sat on the edge of his bed, the wheelchair standing by ready to take him off to another physio session. 

“I guess… I’ll see you in a couple of months, kid,” he’d managed to say eventually, hands buried deep in his pockets. “I’ll call when I can, and I know the guys will call you too. And Mama’s coming down in a few weeks, right?”

“Right.” Face had tried to smile, not quite managing it. He’d held Hannibal’s gaze instead, those bright blue eyes burning with a dozen undecipherable emotions. For a long minute they had just stared at each other, neither of them quite knowing what to say. Then, inevitably, they both spoke at the same time.

“John, I have to – ”

“Kid, let me – ”

They had both stopped at the same time too, both laughed a little, Face shaking his head as Hannibal just smiled. “You go,” he’d said quietly, and the younger man had taken a deep breath.

“I have to say something, and I want you to let me finish before you say anything back.” Face had closed his eyes for a second before reaching out a hand, which Hannibal took willingly. “If nothing else, this whole thing has shown me that life is short and precious. I know we always ignored it, but this – ” he’d waved his free hand over his bandaged stump “ – this shows that anything can happen, especially when you get back out beyond the front line. If something happens to you and I never said anything, then I don’t know how I could live with myself.”

“Face…” Hannibal had whispered, immediately biting on his lip to stay silent. His boy had nodded, offering him a quick flash of nervous smile, before continuing.

“I owe you everything, John. You made me into the Ranger I was, and you saved my life the day I lost my leg. But more than that, you’re…” He’d run out of words then, shaking his head in obvious frustration, before lifting Hannibal’s hand to his lips and pressing a very deliberate, lingering kiss to the colonel’s palm. 

Hannibal had gasped in shock, all his hopes and longings surging forwards. “Face – Temp – do you mean what I think you mean?” He couldn’t, surely, not after everything. But Face had smiled, with fewer nerves that time and a trace of his usual cocky confidence, before squeezing Hannibal’s hand gently.

“I understand if you don’t want… I mean, I know I’m not exactly…” Face had huffed in frustration at himself before adding, in a voice barely louder than a breath, “I wanted to tell you I love you, in case something else unexpected happens on a mission, and you don’t come back to me. No pressure, no expectations. Just that.”

What could Hannibal possibly say to that? He couldn’t sweep Face up in his arms and kiss him the way he wanted to. Not in the middle of an Army rehab centre, with a physiotherapist due any minute and a car waiting downstairs to take him away.

Instead, he’d squeezed Face’s hand as tightly as he could, seeing the way hope bloomed in those bright blue eyes. “You couldn’t have said something a month ago?” he murmured with a smile, and Face had laughed softly.

“Wanted to. But you were so swamped in guilt…”

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal had told him. “I’m sorry you lost your leg. I’m sorry it took something like this for you to say anything. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to say something first. I’m sorry I have to go. I really, really don’t want to go, but I have to.” He took a huge breath, hearing footsteps in the corridor outside, knowing their time was nearly up. “And I love you too,” he hissed, before reluctantly dropping his boy’s hand and standing up straight.

Face’s huge grin had been wonderful to see, and Hannibal had wanted nothing more than to kiss him there and then. To finally touch the other man in the way he’d always wanted to. But Captain Miller had appeared in the doorway, and he’d had to content himself with returning that grin.

He’d tried to pour all his emotions into his eyes and his smile as he nodded to Face one last time. “See you in a couple of months, Lieutenant.” 

“I’ll be waiting, Sir. Promise.” Face had offered him a sharp salute and a cheeky wink, and then they’d had to part. And Hannibal had to force himself to leave, just as he’d had to force himself not to think of those magical few moments every second of every day since then. Already, they felt like a dream. 

How long had Face felt that way about him? How much time had they wasted? And could anything between them really work out – would Hannibal’s lingering guilt and Face's undeniable disability prove too much to overcome?

“Colonel? Bossman, you with us? Hannibal?” Suddenly, Hannibal remembered exactly where he was. He wasn’t back in Texas with Face, he was in a tent with three very confused Rangers staring at him. Murdock had been the one to speak, a rare frown on his face.

“Sorry.” Hannibal shook himself a little, wondering when he’d stopped speaking, hoping he hadn’t revealed too much. He offered his men a quick, apologetic smile. “Jet-lagged.”

“Sure. We should let you unpack, get some kip.” BA stood, stretching his big arms out before grabbing Murdock and beckoning over his shoulder at Read. “Pesterin’ you with a thousand questions, sorry, man.”

“It’s okay, really,” he told them quickly, though in all honesty Hannibal felt he’d be glad of a few minutes alone to gather his thoughts. To get his head back into the right frame of mind. It was so good to be back, but it had been really hard to leave, especially now he longed to find out what he and Face could really have together. 

Read had already shot off out of the tent, but Murdock resisted BA’s attempts to drag him out for just long enough to say, “Glad you’re back, Colonel. And you are back, ain’t ya?”

So much unsaid in those simple words. Both question and apology and forgiveness. “Oh yeah,” Hannibal nodded firmly. “I’m back. And that means we’re back, boys. I’ve got a meeting with the General first thing tomorrow, and I expect we’ll be straight back out on a new mission.”

“I’d better fire up the ol’ grill tonight then!” Murdock finished with a yelp as BA shoved him the rest of the way out, offering Hannibal a final nod and a smile himself before the colonel was alone again, staring at a huge mess and wondering just what had been in the crate that Read had broken. Something liquid, certainly, as a dark puddle was starting to spread across the canvas floor of the tent.

Hannibal sighed, smiling as he let himself fall back onto his bunk. It was good to be back, even if it had been so difficult to leave Face back there in the rehab centre. He wouldn’t be alone for long, though – Hannibal had plans to get back to Texas in a month or so, hopefully with all three of his teammates alongside. 

For now, though, he had to get back to work. Get his head back in the game properly. Murdock firing up the grill sounded perfect – a chance for the four of them to catch up, a chance for Hannibal to hear all about their temporary assignments and what they’d been up to. A chance to find out how many complaints he could expect, as well as how many requests for permanent transfer he’d have to fight off from COs who had been unexpectedly impressed by his boys.

And Hannibal would have to content himself with knowing Face was waiting for him, back in the rehab centre, working his hardest to get back in shape. And when they were together again, who knew what the future might hold, for all of them?


	10. Chapter 10

It felt almost as if time had stopped completely. Face resisted the urge to pace, knowing it wasn’t a particularly good idea, and he also resisted the temptation to find a seat. The last few months had flown by, as busy as he’d been, but waiting in the airport right then it really did feel like time had come to a standstill.

He checked his watch again, heaving a sigh of frustration when he saw it had only been five minutes since he last checked. Felt as if it had been an hour. And Hannibal’s plane still wasn’t due in for another twenty minutes.

Four months. Four long, hard months they’d been apart, and Face had spent every single moment longing for this day. He was nervous now, just a tiny bit, but at the same time he thought he might just explode with anticipation now the day had finally arrived.

Four months. Months in which he’d done everything the doctors told him, pushed himself through every agonising exercise the physiotherapists showed him, talked with so many psychiatrists and counsellors he thought he might lose his voice entirely. Months in which he’d stayed as focussed as he could, wanting nothing more than to get to this day and be standing on two feet when it finally dawned.

And he was. One foot was his own, of course, and one not so much. His new prosthetic leg still amazed him, and it really felt bizarre to actually be standing upright under his own steam. Mostly under his own steam, at least – his balance was still a little off if he moved too quickly, but he’d ditched the hated crutches in favour of a simple cane. Hopefully in another few weeks he’d be able to ditch that too, but it was a small price to pay for actually being able to walk.

So strange to be walking, after being forced to use the wheelchair then the crutches for so long. And so much harder than he’d expected to walk with a prosthetic limb - it took every ounce of concentration Face had, swinging his hip forwards and controlling the action with his stump, waiting for the artificial knee to lock before placing his weight on the leg. But he was getting faster every day, and it was becoming less tiring. Another few months, he’d be running on it as if it had always been a part of him.

Patience had never been Face’s strong suit, but he’d waited this long. He could wait a little longer.

Talking of waiting…

He checked his watch yet again, actually growling out loud when he saw only another few minutes had passed. “Please let the plane land early,” he whispered, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second before refocussing on the Arrivals gate.

Not long now. Not long until he would see Hannibal again, at last. A few snatched phone calls had been all the contact he’d had with his former Colonel for the last four months. A few snatched phone calls on unsecured lines, but it had been enough each time just to hear Hannibal’s voice. To hear the older man was alive and well, still fighting the good fight. To remind Face what he was struggling for, and just what he had to look forward to.

There had been letters too, again only few and far between, but Face cherished each and every one, letting them give him strength. He’d written letters of his own in return, at least once a week, though he had no idea if Hannibal had received any or all of them. In the letters they could each say more of what they were really thinking, all the things they couldn’t say on an unsecure telephone line. About hopes and dreams, and about the future. About their future.

But they still couldn’t say everything. Some things had to be said face to face. Some conversations had to be had in person, and Face had been on tenterhooks ever since that day four months ago when Hannibal had to leave him in order to return to his team and his job. 

He could smile about it now, thinking about the way Hannibal had said ‘I love you too’, back in his little room at the rehab centre, just moments before the real world had crashed back in on them both. He’d been so nervous beforehand, swinging wildly back and forth between declaring his love for the colonel or just sending him off with a handshake and a smile. But those intense four weeks they’d spent together at the centre had given him hope, and as Hannibal seemed to finally work through his guilt over the loss of Face’s leg, he’d braced himself and taken the plunge.

Life was short. Face’s injuries had proved that, as if either of them had needed the reminder. If Hannibal died without knowing how Face felt, then Face would never have been able to forgive himself. He could have coped with any reaction, anything at all, knowing Hannibal was leaving anyway. He’d had to say it, knowing Hannibal wouldn’t say it first. Couldn’t say it first.

They’d always known the jobs they did were dangerous. You didn’t survive in the Rangers as long as Hannibal had done, as long as Face had done too, without knowing that things happened. People died, or were hurt. Face had been hurt before, during the time he’d served under the infamous Colonel Smith, just like Hannibal had been hurt in turn. They’d always bounced back though, desperate to get back to active duty and fighting the doctors every step of the way. That wasn’t an option for Face this time, and he’d been shocked to realise how much Hannibal had blamed himself for simply saving Face’s life.

And he was alive. They were both alive, both Hannibal and Face, and somehow, miraculously, they’d both admitted ‘I love you’. Only to then have to be apart for four long, difficult months, without having the chance to actually see what they could have together, or to talk further. 

Without even a kiss, to see if their sexual tension would hold up and turn into the simmering heat Face longed for.

Soon, now, thank goodness, if only time would speed back up to its usual steady pace. Face glared at his watch yet again, shook his wrist to see if he could somehow make it go faster. Still ten more interminable minutes until Hannibal might realistically appear. Assuming he could be off the plane first, and straight through baggage claim and customs – Face growled again, suddenly wishing Hannibal had taken a military flight rather than civilian. 

He forced himself to take a few long, slow, deep breaths, calming his racing heart. Patience, he reminded himself. You’ve waited this long. Be patient a little longer.

His hopes were high, but realistic. This would be a flying visit, just a few short days together before Hannibal and the team would have to head back out again. But a lot could happen in just a few days. Especially when Hannibal had flown on ahead, leaving Murdock, BA and Read to fly out tomorrow. 

As much as Face was looking forward to seeing his two best friends again – and as much as he was excited to finally spend some time with Tom Read, wanting to get to know the guy who was Hannibal’s new right-hand man – he really did wish it was only Hannibal coming to visit him this time. He’d been able to speak to Murdock and BA a few times over the last few months, as well as receiving some strange postcards and letters from the pair of them, and he missed them both nearly as much as he missed Hannibal. 

Their friendship would never be quite the same though, a thought which always made Face unbearably sad if he let it take root in his mind. How could it be the same, when they weren’t together every minute of every day? When they weren’t living side by side in some truly inhospitable conditions? When they weren’t trusting each other with their lives each and every day?

It couldn’t be the same, but it would still be there, Face knew that in his gut. He couldn’t let himself be too upset at the fact things were changing – things had changed the moment his left leg had been severed, and it was less than pointless to fight it. Months of therapy as well as Face’s own positive outlook meant he could try to look on the bright side. Murdock and Bosco would always be his brothers. They would always be in his life, even if they weren’t by his side every moment of the day.

Read was the man they trusted with their lives now, and Face really did want to get to know the kid a bit better. He’d asked around, only having known a little about the Lieutenant before that fateful mission that had cost him his leg, and to his vast relief he’d heard only good things. And judging by the snippets of information he’d gleaned from talking to Hannibal, the kid was fitting in well. It would be good to meet him, to pass on some of his tricks and tips at last – there was a fine art to handling Hannibal at times, as well as a few handy ideas to make living with both BA and Murdock a bit easier.

Face had already made it his mission to send Hannibal’s Alpha unit as many home comforts as he possibly could. Favourite foods and new DVDs. As many cigars as Hannibal could reasonably smoke. Comic books and new novels and anything else Face could remember missing during a long deployment. Equipment too, of course, and information and gossip when he heard something that might be useful. 

He wasn’t going to let all those years of practise at scamming and conning go to waste, after all. And he’d found the complicated network of contacts he’d assembled was still intact. That had been the final push he’d needed to make a decision about his future, though not even Hannibal knew it was all signed and sealed. Face had a new job waiting for him back at Benning starting in just over a month’s time, working in Intel for the Rangers. He’d be making the plans himself now, working with a team of his own to make sure units like Hannibal’s had as much idea as they could of what they were walking into.

And he’d always be right there when Hannibal came back. Waiting for him, ready to welcome his man home. 

Assuming everything went well, and assuming the long-awaited first kiss was as hot as Face hoped. And assuming they could figure out some way to make a long distance relationship work, though strangely he wasn’t too worried about that. He figured it might actually be easier than if they were still in the same team, always battling the inevitable need to hide their feelings for each other and trying to balance their work dynamic with the distracting passion of a new relationship. 

Not long now, and they could finally start trying. If time would ever speed back up, then Hannibal would be there, and Face could fall into his arms at last.

He’d deliberately dressed in civvies rather than his uniform, and wondered distantly if Hannibal would have thought to do the same. A busy and bustling civilian airport rather than the exposed hangers back on the base. They wouldn’t have to be quite so careful greeting each other here, which was a very good thing – Face wasn’t sure quite how much restraint he’d have when he got his first glimpse of Hannibal after these four long, endless, epic months apart.

Not long now. Not long. Face repeated that over and over in his head, ignoring the sharp ache that had started to build in his stump where it rubbed against the socket of his new leg. He’d probably been standing for too long, he thought with a rueful smile. He really was doing everything the doctors told him to do, but he also knew he was pushing things a little in his determination to be well as soon as he could, and to get his independence back entirely. He was living alone again at last, a tiny studio apartment in a complex attached to the rehab centre, but he had learnt quickly just how important it was to take care of his stump properly when he’d eased up on the care regime and let it get re-infected a few weeks earlier. 

Face smiled to think that maybe Hannibal would be willing to help him apply the different powders and lotions he used twice a day, as well as perhaps helping with the massages, though of course Face wouldn’t rush him. Wouldn’t push anything, wouldn’t dream of it, not after being patient for so long – his stump wasn’t exactly the most beautiful thing to look at, and he didn’t really know how Hannibal would feel about touching it. Hannibal hadn’t touched it yet actually, not once, though he’d looked at it without flinching away. 

Not long now. Not long. Not long. Not long…

The crowd around the Arrivals gate was growing thicker now, as families and friends and colleagues and limo drivers with signs all waited to greet the flight. A little blonde girl pushed past Face, knocking him slightly off balance, and he quickly moved his cane and shuffled around until he was steady again, only to be bumped again as a young woman brushed past him too. 

“Sorry, sir,” the woman called over her shoulder, catching up with the girl and swinging her up into her arms. “I’ve told you, Caitlyn, you can’t run around in here. What if I lost you in all these crowds? What if you missed seeing Daddy when he comes through the gates?” 

The little girl – Caitlyn, Face presumed – twisted round in her mother’s arms until she was looking right at Face over her shoulder. She stuck her tongue out at him and, instinctively, he returned the favour, pulling an even sillier face when she giggled.

Of course, the mother turned to see what her daughter was finding so funny, at the very moment Face stuck his tongue out again. “Oh, sorry, Ma’am, I mean – ” He stopped, shaking his head and laughing as little Caitlyn blew him a huge raspberry. “She’s adorable,” he told her with a more normal smile, steadying himself on his cane yet again. 

“She’s overexcited,” the mother told him, jiggling her little girl up and down a bit. “First time she’s seen Daddy in five weeks. That’s a long time when you’re only three. Isn’t it, sweetheart?” She kissed her daughter sloppily on the cheek, making her giggle all over again, before turning back to Face. “You meeting someone special? Family?”

“Someone very special, yes, but not family.” Special didn’t even begin to touch on what Hannibal was, but suddenly there was no more time, and people were starting to emerge from the Arrivals gate in a steady stream. Caitlyn and her mother were forgotten as Face scanned each and every person who emerged, suddenly desperately scared that perhaps something had happened. 

Perhaps Hannibal hadn’t been able to get on the flight. Or perhaps he’d changed his mind. Perhaps all four of the team would be there, and Face would have to hold himself back. Perhaps Hannibal would tell him it had all been a mistake, that he loved Face as a son and nothing more. Perhaps – 

But then, there he was. Head and shoulders above everyone else, silver hair shining in the harsh overhead lights, heavy kitbag slung over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all. Blue-grey eyes sparkling and beautifully offset by both his denim shirt and his deep tan. Eyes that searched the crowds rapidly, looking for Face, who pushed forwards through the thinning crowd as quickly as he could.

“Hannibal!” he called, unable to move as fast as he would like, desperate not to trip or stumble. He didn’t want that to be Hannibal’s first impression of him after all this time. Didn’t want to literally fall into the other man’s arms. “John, I’m here!”

And those stunning eyes locked onto him in a heartbeat, those long powerful legs eating up the distance between them as Face staggered closer, the crowds between them parting like the red sea. Hannibal dropped his kitbag to the floor, the widest and most beautiful smile spreading across his rugged features, and Face felt all his doubts and worries melt away.

“Hi,” Hannibal whispered, before wrapping his arms around Face and pulling him close, heedless of the people pressing close on all sides. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Face managed to gasp, remembering to keep hold of his cane as he wrapped his other arm around Hannibal’s waist. Time seemed to stop once again as they just stared into each other’s eyes, then Hannibal leaned closer and Face tilted his head instinctively, and then…

And then, nothing else mattered. As their lips met for the first time, in the middle of a busy Arrivals hall, Face standing carefully on his new prosthetic leg and Hannibal still smelling of the hot desert he’d only recently left, nothing else mattered in the whole world. 

They’d find a way to make it all work, careers and passion and long distance and life, and Face somehow knew they would both be just fine. Things might have changed forever in both their lives, but it looked for definite that they had changed for the better. One leg seemed a small price to pay for that. 


End file.
